Who we once were
by purdys pal
Summary: A series of one shots based around Michael and Fiona's past as mentioned in Dodging Raindrops. These one shots can be read independently of the main story.
1. Amsterdam Feburary '99

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Burn Notice, all that is written here is just for fun._**

**A/N: **A series of one shots telling the tale of Michael's time in Ireland inspired by events in Dodging Raindrops**.**

**WHO WE ONCE WERE.**

**Chapter one.**

**A Night in Amsterdam.**

**The Leidseplein District of Amsterdam, Feb 1999**

On a cold, dark, stormy February evening in the heart of Amsterdam, a tiny auburn haired woman strode along the Weteringschans next to a busy dual carriageway. She walked with a long purposeful stride, ignoring the water that splashed up on her bare legs, her attention firmly fixed on the church-like structure ahead of her. A car horn honked. A man leaned out of the car window shouting something to her, but she didn't react. She knew what was causing the stares of the few people on the street as well as the occasional passing motorist.

She was dressed to impress. A little black dress which left little to the imagination, black four inch stiletto heels to give her more height and a matching clutch bag made up her total ensemble. Even in Amsterdam, her appearance was such to cause comment with no coat or wrap; her only acknowledgement of the weather was a clear plastic umbrella. This was a mission where she needed to appear the complete opposite of what she really was.

Reaching the club's car park, she paused for a moment. Closing the umbrella, she threw it into a nearby bin and then ran her fingers through her hair, turning the long curling locks into a tousled mess. Taking a long look at the magnificent gothic exterior to the club, she stepped forward towards the entrance. The purposeful stride was gone, replaced by the loose clumsy stroll of a party girl who had had a little too much to drink.

Her dress and good looks got her through the front door without having to queue and after paying her entry fee she made her way inside, nearly falling through the doors. Giving the nearest bouncer a drunken smile, she made it on to the dance floor.

Slipping nimbly through the crowd of writhing and swaying bodies, she made her way towards the stunning stain glass window, which was the back drop to the stage at the back of the first floor of the club. It was the narrow door that led behind the stage that held her attention. As she gyrated on the dance floor, she studied the man on guard duty. He looked like the typical rent-a-thug that she had seen the world over, large muscles and more than likely a little dim witted.

While she kept moving to the music, her hand went into her little black clutch bag and came out holding a small syringe. Flicking the protective cap off the end of the needle, she staggered off the dance floor, stumbling in her high heels and giggling at what somebody had apparently said to her in crowd.

Seeing an obviously drunk tiny woman staggering towards him in a barely there dress, the guard stepped forward to stop her from falling on her face. As his hands caught hold of her shoulders, he felt a sharp pain in his leg and everything began to get hazy. For such a delicate looking woman, she was stronger than she looked. She pushed the sedated man, who had a good eight inches and a hundred pounds on her, back to the door and propped him up against the wall.

A quick look around and she was satisfied that, with the help of the dark room and flashing lights, she hadn't drawn attention to herself. Making quick work of picking the lock to the door, she slipped backstage. Taking a deep breath she looked around, her focus on the voices she could hear coming from a room at the far end of the backstage area. Slipping her shoes off her feet, she left them by the door and reached into her clutch bag, this time bringing out an H &K compact handgun. For a second she paused to look at the gun, remembering when she got it. It had been a Christmas present and this was going to be her first chance to fire it in anger. Running her fingertips, along the barrel she couldn't help the beaming smile that made her lips part in anticipation of what she expected to be an eventful evening. Flicking off the safety, she moved forward towards the voices. The thought of a little violence and hopefully some gun play gave her a warm tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She pressed her ear against the door and listened, her lips thinning in frustration. The occupants were speaking in Dutch.

Okay I can't understand a word. But I can try to make out how many are in there.

The sound of a fist hitting flesh caused her to throw caution to the wind and she flung the door open and stepped inside with her gun held out before her.

"Karen, I wondered when you would make an appearance." The speaker stood in the middle of the room. He too held a gun; his was pointed at the figure lying on the floor at his feet.

"Let him go," Karen ordered, her blue-green eyes fixed on her target.

"No. You drop your gun or Jan here," he kicked the figure on the floor with the toe of his shoe. "Gets bullet in the brain and you get to answer my questions."

Karen took a moment to study the room. Gerard Hendrickson was the man standing over Jan. On Hendrickson's left was one of his bodyguards and on his right standing in the background was his business partner. The mystery man they had been trying to find.

"Now, Karen!" Hendrickson gave her a condescending smile. "Or your boyfriend dies." To make his point, he cocked his gun.

Instead of obeying the command, she looked down at her fallen lover. He looked back at her, his intense stare flickering to the bodyguard and the man hanging back in the corner. She gave him a barely perceptible nod.

"He's not my boyfriend," she smiled and turned her gun away from Hendrickson and fired towards the bodyguard.

As Karen finished speaking, the man on the floor turned slightly and delivered a hard kick to the back of Hendrickson's knee. The man's leg locked up in agony and he collapsed to the floor. Jan leapt to his feet, jerking the gun out of Hendrickson's hand.

When he saw his boss fall to the floor, the bodyguard brought up his own gun only to drop it as a bullet entered his shoulder. Karen had fired hitting the bodyguard high in the left shoulder.

"Fi!"

The woman who was known throughout the Amsterdam underworld as Karen Walker moved fast, ducking down as a bullet hit the wall above her head. Jan who now had Hendrickson's gun fired at the business partner, dropping the man to the ground with a head shot.

"Run!" he ordered. Reaching the door, he pushed her through it ahead of him.

"What happened, Michael? You were supposed to wait for me." Fiona Glenanne, aka Karen Walker, demanded as they ran towards the door leading back to the dance floor.

"Yeah, well, Hendrickson called and wanted a meeting." Michael Westen's American accent replaced the Dutch one he had been using as Jan. He opened the door, slipping back into the club with Fiona close behind him still trying to put her high heels back on.

Together the two of them pushed their way through the crowded night club. The loud music had hidden the sounds of the shots. As they reached the doors, four men moved into sight blocking their escape.

"Four," Fiona hummed. "It's almost a fair fight."

Michael caught hold of her arm. "We can't afford to have the police involved."

"You're no fun, Michael," she grinned at him, pulling off a shoe.

Before he could stop her, she stepped in front of him holding her shoe by the toe. Without warning, she caught the first man with the steel stiletto heel of her shoe. He dropped like a stone with a neat little hole in the centre of his head. The second man she went for howled when she stamped on his instep with her still shod foot and followed up by delivering a blow to the back of his head with the heel of the other shoe.

Michael had already put one man down with a blow to his throat and the second was about to lose consciousness as Michael had him in a head lock. As the last man sank to the floor, a cry went out and they realized their escape was not going to be as easy as they had first hoped.

Dashing out on to the street, Michael turned to the left and they began to sprint away from the club. Fiona had kicked off her one remaining shoe and was now bare foot. Behind them, they could hear Hendrickson shouting for his men to give chase. Passing a small park, Michael led the way on to a side street. His plan was to lose their pursuers on the crowded narrow streets.

Unfortunately, the heavy rain and thunder storm had emptied the normally busy streets and with no crowds to hide in they soon found themselves beside one of the many canals that ran through the city. A quick look up and down and Michael began to silently curse. They had come across what must have been the only part of a canal not lined with cafes. Behind them, Hendrickson's men were closing in. Looking to the left and right he could see more men outflanking them.

Fiona could read the situation as well as Michael. She pulled out her hand gun.

"Well, it's been nice knowin' ya, McBride."

She aimed at the men coming towards them along the canal footpath.

"No! No Fi!" Michael grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards the water.

"Michael!" she shrieked. "No, I..."

She got no further as he launched them both into the inky black waters of the Prinsengracht Canal.

Michael kept a tight hold of Fiona's wrist, forcing her under the water. He kicked out against the fast moving current, his eyes focused on searching for the opposite canal wall. Over head, they could hear the muffled sound of bullets hitting the water, but Michael had taken them deep enough for the bullets to have lost their momentum.

By the time he had got them to the far side, his hand feeling along the wall, Fiona was no longer struggling. Surfacing he looked around. Hendrickson's men were still running along the other side of the canal looking for a way to cross. Fiona's head fell limply against his shoulder; his only feeling of relief was the chattering of her teeth.

"I'm sorry. Hold on, Fi. I'll get us out."

He was freezing himself, but he'd had training years ago and his body had been conditioned to sudden immersion in freezing water. Holding her in his arms, he bobbed up and down in the water a couple of times before managing to get her up onto the footpath. Hauling himself up after her, he caught her up in his arms. Holding her close, he vigorously rubbed her arms and her sides until she began to cough.

"Y-you s-sh-shoulda le-lemme sh-shoot 'em." She stared up at him, her eyes shining under the dim street lights.

"And we would have both died," he replied calmly.

"At l-least w-we w-w-wouldn't have ta freeze ta d-death," she complained, wrapping her arms around his soaking wet body trying desperately to get warm.

"We can't stay here."

Michael was already looking for somewhere to hide. Fiona would not be able to go far in her present condition and it wouldn't be long before Hendrickson's men found a bridge to cross the canal.

He spotted the wooden front of a run-down building sitting nestled between luxury apartment blocks. Taking her hand, he led her over to the door.

"Keep watch," he ordered, plucking a hairpin out of her lank wet hair.

"I've lost me gun, Michael. Tha one yer bought me fer Christmas."

"I'll buy you another one. Just keep watch." He was struggling with the large ancient padlock; his fingers were numb and shaking almost as badly as Fiona was as she stood keeping watch for their pursuers.

"C'mon... D-do you want me ta do it?" She glanced down at where he knelt, his face twisted in concentration as the padlock finally clicked open.

"There," he smiled, as he took her hand and pulled her inside.

They quickly barricaded the door and moved deeper into the building. Passing through a rather bare reception area, they came to another door. Michael made a half hearted effort to pick the lock and then, out of patience, he smashed his hand through one of the glass panels.

"Mi-Micheal what a-are you doing?"

But he wasn't listening to her, he wanted to get deeper into the building before Hendrickson caught up with them. Only once they were through the door, she pulled him round to face her.

"L-let me look at your ar-rrm," she stuttered the words out. After a close inspection of his hand and wrist, she decided it was bloody but not too deep. "W-we n-need to find a f-first aid kit and I'll b-bandage it."

"There was one in the other room," he muttered. "Really, Fi, it's not necessary."

She didn't answer, just stared up at him with her arms crossed over her chest, the only noise the soft chattering of her teeth. With an angry huff, he went back into the reception area and grabbed the first aid kit from off the wall.

"Here," he held the box out to her.

"Stop sulking. If- if they c-come inside we can har- hardly hide with you d-dripping blood everywhere."

Five minutes later, she had picked out all the slivers of glass embedded in his hand and bandaged his hand and wrist.

"There," she smiled up at him. "Now we can continue."

They moved deeper into the building, until they found a small side room. Hearing somebody banging on the doors, they sunk down low and waited hoping Hendrickson's men would move on. Neither one of them was really up for another fight or chase through the city centre. They waited for an hour huddled against each other before they were sure they were safe.

"Michael, there has to be somewhere more comfortable to stay than this." She was cold and wet and they both stank of canal water. Getting to her feet, she urged Michael get up too.

"We're better off staying here until morning." He grudgingly followed her towards the door.

"I'm not saying we should leave. I'm saying we should find somewhere more comfortable. Maybe one of these offices has a couch or some..." She came to a stop in the doorway to the next room, her words stuck in her throat.

Stuck behind her, Michael reached around her and hit the light switch and he too stared at the sight before them.

"Well, it's not a couch," he commented as they stared wide-eyed at the row upon row of plastic wrapped mattresses lining the long walls.

"But at least we'll be comfortable." Fiona was still trembling, but managed a weak smile. "Now if they just had some nice linen this would be perfect."

"Perfect?" Michael rested his chin on top of her head while wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "You have a strange idea of perfect."

"There must be something we could use." She twisted in his embrace to kiss his cheek.

Taking the hint, he knew she wouldn't rest until he found something to cover their bodies.

"Wait here. I'll go and take a look."

He left her with the stock of mattresses and in the very next room came across massive rolls of material. Digging into his pants pocket, he found his pocket knife. Slicing through the plastic covering the rolls of fabric, he cut several large squares and then carried back into the other room.

Dropping the fabric onto the mattress that Fiona had pulled from its place on the wall, Michael turned to her, lightly brushing stray strands of wet hair off her face.

"We need to get out of these wet clothes," he told her.

She stared up into his eyes noticing how they had darkened as he leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead.

"I thought you would never ask," she murmured. Reaching down she grasped the hem of her dress and in one move pulled it up and over her head.

She smiled at him, the tip of her tongue snaking out to wet her lips.

"I heard it said once in a Bond movie."

As she spoke, she ripped his shirt open sending buttons flying out in all directions. Her hands moving smoothly over his pecs, her thumbs circled and scraped across his nipples before moving lower, dancing over his freshly bruised ribs reaching for his belt buckle.

"Shared bodily warmth." She pressed her lips against his bare chest trailing kisses over where her hands had been moments earlier. "And a positive mental attitude."

Her nimble fingers made quick work of the belt and started on the fastener and zip until his pants were undone, too.

With his pants undone and hanging low on his hips, Fiona moved back, dropping down on to the mattress she had chosen. Landing flat on her back, she raised her arms over her head and arched her body upwards.

"I'm cold Michael. Come warm me up."

Michael stared down at her. Under the warehouse lights, her body appeared to glisten.

"My pleasure Fi," he murmured his voice husky with passion.

As he spoke, he was already stripping off what remained of his clothing, his eyes fixed firmly on the alluring body stretched out before him. With his shirt flung down to join the rest of his soaked clothing, he knelt down on the edge of the mattress.

"I think if we're going to share bodily warmth," his hands slid up her calves and over her knees and along her inner thighs gently spreading her legs apart, "We need to get rid of these." His thumbs hooked under her flesh colored lace panties, pulling them down slowly. He leaned forward to lay kisses over her newly exposed flesh.

With her panties carelessly thrown aside, he moved up her body placing tantalizing kisses along her torso. When he reached her breasts, he moved even slower causing her to gasp as he took one and then the other into his mouth nuzzling and gently nipping the sensitive nubs. All the while the fingers of one hand were playing a teasing game between her legs, circling the place where she wanted him most, his touch so light and fleeting offering her a hint of what was to come.

She squirmed underneath him panting with desire. One of her hands was in his short hair, her fingers scraping across his scalp as she pulled him up and into a deep ardent kiss. Her other hand was on his wrist, trying to get him to touch the spot so desperate for attention.

"Are you warming up, Fi?" Michael smiled down at her, enjoying the effect his gentle and teasing touch was having on the woman writhing underneath him.

"Michael," she groaned his name. "I'm - going to - kick - your - ass..."

He stopped her words by covering her mouth with his own in a hard demanding kiss, his body covering hers completely as his fingers finally went to where she desired. Sighing into his kiss, their tongues dueled for dominance as her fingers began their own dance over his back, sides and then lower. Her touch was igniting a fire inside him, as he thrust into her touch.

As he withdrew his fingers and attempted to pull her even closer, Fiona brought both hands to the sides of his head and pushed him away her.

"This mattress is too soft," she gasped into his ear.

He paused, studying her intently. Slowly a smile curved up his lips. Placing his hands on her hips, he twisted until he was on laying on his back and she was sat astride him.

"That better?" he asked.

"A little." She leaned forward burying her head into the crook of his neck nipping, at his flesh before kissing the same spot better.

"I- just- need." She lifted herself up slightly and took him in her hand. "To get comfy." The last word came out as a sigh as she slid slowly down on to him. She paused letting her body adjust to the sensation and then slowly began to rock back and forth.

His hands came up and encouraging her to lean further over him so his mouth could close around her right breast. His teeth gently grazed on her hard little nipple as he nuzzled against her chest, sucking her soft sensitive flesh deeper into his mouth. Her moans of pleasure spurring him on, encouraging his fingers to skim across her skin exploring every part they could reach.

Their breaths became harder and faster as they were hit by wave after wave of rapture. He lifted his knees and placed his hands on her hips, driving her down onto him, their pubic bones clashing against each other. As she began to pulse around him, drawing him in deeper, his own breath became ragged and gasping. They fell over the orgasmic cliff together, clinging onto to each other and finally laying quiet as their bodies recovered.

Still breathing heavily and now thoroughly warmed, Michael shifted slightly, easing his hands up to run his fingers through Fiona's still damp hair. Cupping her face between his hands, he looked into her blue-green eyes and then at her swollen and kiss bruised lips.

"You're right this mattress is too soft."

She laughed, lifting herself free of his body. Getting to her feet, she held out a hand urging him to get up too.

"Let's find another." Her voice so low he wasn't sure he had heard her correctly.

"Fi - another?" He was up on his feet standing behind her.

She turned back to him, running a finger down the centre of his chest, over the ridges of his abs and lower still.

"Another." She smiled, her tongue flickering out as she felt him begin to respond to her touch.

He swallowed and took a step closer intending to pull her into his arms, but Fiona had other ideas. Slipping from his grip, she glided over to the rows of mattresses her hands skimming over each one in passing until she saw one she wanted to try.

"This one," she told him and watched as he pulled it down onto the floor.

Collecting his knife from the pocket of his discarded pants, Michael cut away the plastic wrapping. Placing his foot on the mattress he pressed down. "It feels hard."

"Hard?" Fiona stood behind him, her arms encircling his waist. "Are you sure? Let me be the judge of that."

She slid her hands lower, stroking along his length.

"The - mattress," he dropped his head back trying to keep control of his breathing as one of her hands took hold of him. "The mattress, Fi, the mattress is too hard."

"Oohh, I'm not so sure. I think there's - something harder." She gave him a squeeze and he gasped. Taking hold of her hand, he carefully freed himself and turned to face her, capturing her in an embrace.

Nuzzling her ear, he whispered, "Choose another."

"No, I like it when things are - hard," she smirked before pushing him down on to the offending mattress.

She followed him landing on top of him, her hands on his shoulders pinning him down. "See, it's not so bad."

"Ah-huh, well, you try it out," Michael surged up, quickly changing their positions. He used his body weight to keep her trapped under him while he began to kiss her forehead, her cheek and on to her neck, concentrating on the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Comfy?" he breathed against her neck, "Because I am."

As he continued to lay feather light kisses along her neck, he was using his knee to tease her legs apart.

"I can make you sooo much more comfortable." She brought her legs up around his waist, her heels hooking just below his ass drawing him inside her.

"How's that?" She grinned as he began to move.

"Beautiful." He dropped his head down to kiss her forehead.

He took her over the edge twice before he finally followed her there, eventually collapsing down onto his side next to her. They lay side by side trying to catch their breaths until Fiona shifted to lay her head on his chest.

"You okay?" He brushed her hair away from her face.

"Ermmm," was the only answer he got as she snuggled against him.

Sighing, Michael stretched out and pulled the pieces of cloth he had cut over from the other mattress and covered them over. As Fiona slept, he couldn't help but think about what had led to them being hunted down.

He shouldn't have let her come with him. He'd actually gone against his handler's orders by bringing her along. But he had grown used to working with her, and he valued her skills. Besides she was one of the few people left in the world that he trusted with his life.

But this time he could have got her killed and all because he had grown over confident. When Hendrickson had called and demanded that their meeting was brought forward, he should have refused or called Fi to come as back up. But he had been so sure he could deal with the diamond smuggler on his own that he had gone in alone and nearly got them both killed. Now the mission was blown, Dan Siebels would know he went against his orders by involving his IRA asset and he knew that once they were home there would be a price for his insubordination.

"Michael, go to sleep." Fiona lifted her head to stare up at her lover. She could see the worry lines creasing his forehead. "What's the matter? Hendrickson is long gone. We're safe."

He didn't want to try to explain his fears, so he slapped his hand down on the mattress. "I told you it's too hard. I can't sleep on it."

Huffing, Fiona shifted so she was laying half on his chest and she was level with his eyes. "You've slept on a lot worse since I've known you. Why are you being such a baby?"

"I've got used to our bed." He gently lifted her off his chest and got to his feet. "Let's find a better one."

She watched him walk back to the rows of mattresses and after a moment got to her feet following him. "You're looking for a twenty year old lumpy old thing with a coupla busted springs?"

"No." He treated her to a charming toothy smile. "But if I wanted to sleep on a lump of concrete, I'd have slept on the floor." He stopped and started to maneuver another mattress out of its rack. "Let's try this one."

Half an hour later neither one of them was happy as it became obvious Michael's choice was one of the cheaper mattresses in the storeroom.

Fiona made the fourth choice: a double thick foam mattress with a silk lining. It was a great success until they tumbled off the edge, Michael banging his head hard enough on the concrete floor to see stars. Fiona sat on his stomach laughing at his stunned expression.

Finally, just after the chimes of the Westerkerk clock tower struck four am, they fell into a deep sleep wrapped in each other's arms on a king size memory foam mattress.

The sun broke through the small dust covered window in the store room. Michael woke up, shaking Fiona awake when he heard voices raised in alarm. Glancing at his watch he saw it was eight am, the factory workers must have discovered the open padlock and the smashed glass.

Without a word they slipped into their clothes, Fiona wrinkling her nose at the smell of canal water. "You ruined my dress," she hissed, "and you lost me ma gun."

"Would you have preferred to die?" he growled back.

"I coulda taken them."

They tiptoed out of the storeroom making their way to the back of the warehouse where Fiona had spotted the loading bays for the delivery trucks.

The voices of the factory workers could be heard clearly now shouting loudly.

"What is he saying Michael?" Fiona asked as they slipped outside. "Michael?"

She slapped his arm when he smirked.

"Nothing Fi,"

The grin had got wider and he flinched as another blow caught him around the ear.

"Okay, Goldilocks." He dodged away from another blow. "I think he must have kids he was saying something about Goldilocks and the three bears."


	2. Slieveanorra October '98

**A/N: **A big thank you to Jedi Skysinger for BETAing, I know I gave you so much extra work with this chapter. Thank you Amanda Hawthorn and DaisyDay for reading through sections of this chapter for me you were both a big help.

**()()()()()()()()()**

**WHO WE ONCE WERE**

**Slieveanorra**

**Dublin, October 1998 **

"_How could I have been so damned stupid? Cooking lessons! Fiona Glenanne taking cooking lessons. _

_She must have been planning the job for weeks without telling me a damn thing! Robbing a goddamn armored truck, she's gonna ruin everything!"_

The thoughts shot through Michael's mind as rapidly as the wheels spun on the Sierra Cosworth he was driving at highly illegal speeds towards the Northern Ireland border.

Four hours ago, he had been walking up the steep concrete steps to the one bedroom Dublin flat he shared with the little auburn-haired hell raiser. At the time, he had been racked with guilt for walking out on her three days earlier with barely a word of explanation.

"I've gotta assignment. I'll be gone for a few days," had been the limit of what he could tell her. Only she hadn't seen it that way.

She had followed him around the flat as he'd packed a change of clothes and various pieces weaponry he'd thought he might need into a canvas bag, trying to provoke him into telling her more. He had known she feared he was going to disappear, or more likely do something to betray her compatriots. All the old distrusts had risen back to the surface with spiteful and hurtful comments flying back and forth between them.

"You knew it would happen one day," he had tried to explain as he'd taken a hard blow in between his shoulder blades. "I'm surprised they've left me alone for this long."

"I thought - " She'd calmed down as rapidly as her temper had flared. "I thought ya might be fergettin about yar government job. We've gotta good thing here - I thought ya war happy."

He'd smiled softly at her. "I am happy, Fi. But my 'government work,' as you put it, is who I am an' I'm not going to change. I told you that ages ago."

And that had been all it took for the calm to disappear. Under normal circumstances, that was one of the many things he loved about Fiona Glenanne. She was as dangerous and unstable as the explosives she handled. She could go from sweet to crazy with barely a pause in between. If he wasn't about to go on a mission, this would have been when the fun would have really started; however, he had been waiting weeks to be given something worthwhile to do and he didn't have long to get in place.

"Yar not leaving here until ya tell me whatcha up to!" She'd stood in the door way, her arms folded across her chest, blocking his exit from the bedroom. Her eyes had sparkled with excitement and, as he rose up on to his feet, her mouth had twitched in anticipation of the upcoming battle.

But instead of a sparring match leading to a morning filled with wild passion, he had moved with cool purpose, taking her punches, kicks and the sharp nips of her teeth when he had taken a hold of her around the waist. But instead of smothering her in kisses, he had thrown her down on the bed, picked up his bag and headed for the door.

"This has nothing to do with you. I'll be back in a few days." His words had come out stilted as he fought to keep a tight rein on his own emotions.

He'd been outside, having just slammed the front door closed, when he ducked instinctively as something heavy hit the other side of the thick wooden door. Walking away, he had done his best to block out her angry screeches which followed him along the balcony.

Michael put a stop to his reminiscing as he neared the border. Luckily there were no checkpoints set up and he sailed through without having to stop. The only way to tell he had crossed from Southern Ireland into the North were the road signs, which changed from the bi-lingual ones in the South to the solely English ones in the North.

Soon his foot was pressing the accelerator pedal to the floor again and he was zipping passed all the other traffic. The Sierra's speedometer was easily creeping up passed one hundred miles an hour and still moving around the dial. At one hundred and forty, he was flashing the headlights to force other cars out of his path.

_What the hell was she playing at? An armed robbery in broad daylight on a busy road! If the police didn't kill her there was a strong possibility that when he caught up to her, he would kill her himself._

The assignment was supposed to have been a simple one. He had told Fiona he would be gone for a few days, but in reality he had expected it to last no more than twenty four hours. It was supposed to have been an easy extraction.

Toby Hanrahan was an arms smuggler based out of Waterford who had been turned into a MI6 asset after he had been caught out at sea with a boat load of Semtex. Instead of getting a long prison sentence, he had chosen to become an informer for the intelligence services and, over the last five years, had helped to build up a case which lead to over fifty arrests in Britain and Ireland.

Then Hanrahan's MI6 handler had received word that the IRA hierarchy was becoming suspicious of the smuggler. So, the order had been given to extract the family. Toby had been picked up at his home, but unfortunately at the time his wife and children had been away visiting friends in Dublin.

So that had been his job: to meet Mrs Hanrahan on Halfpenny Bridge and escort her and the children to a safe house in Belfast where her husband was waiting for her to join him.

"You're perfect for the job. If anybody spots her in your company, you're Michael McBride and you're taking her to the North as a hostage to force her husband to surrender himself to the IRA," Richard Chambers, his new temporary British handler, had told him.

So after leaving Fiona, he had taken a roundabout route to the meeting place, all the while making sure he wasn't being followed. He had waited with growing concern for over an hour before deciding to risk a visit to the family's lodgings, a guest house on the outskirts of the City.

He had snuck inside and gone up to the room Mrs Hanrahan had been sharing with her children. Knocking quietly on the door, he had waited with a gun in his hand.

"Missus Hanrahan?" He'd gotten no reply to his quiet call. Trying the handle, he'd become even more worried for the family's safety when he realized it was unlocked.

Pushing the door wide open, he had stared across the room. On the far wall, written in what looked like blood, had been one word; **Brathadóir. **_Informer, _he had translated the accusation into English.

Stepping into the room, he'd closed the door behind him before moving further inside. He'd found Mrs. Hanrahan's mutilated body lying on the floor beneath the word written in her blood. In the bedroom he'd found three little bodies on the bed, each killed with a shot to the head.

He had stood frozen to the spot as a terrible flashback of an incident several years earlier played out in his head. A memory he had successfully managed to keep buried until now: _Chechnya. _Shaking his head, he'd pushed the thought back into the deep recesses of his brain. _I wasn't there, I did nothing._

Just like all those years ago, there had been nothing he could do for the dead. So he'd slipped away looking for the nearest phone box. Dialing 999, he had requested the Garda and then gave them the address of the guest house before hanging up the phone and rushing away.

Once clear of the crime scene, he'd used his cell phone to put a call through to Chambers. He'd expected to be told to return to his home and await further assignments. Instead he had been ordered to get to Belfast as fast as he could for a full debriefing at a safe house, which operated as a head quarters for the British covert operations.

It had taken him the rest of the day to make the journey, as he had to keep checking he wasn't being followed. After a night's sleep, he'd spent the next day tied to a desk in front of his own handler and one of the team in charge of Toby Hanrahan describing everything he had seen. It had taken a full thirty six hours before he was released to return to Dublin.

The whole time he'd traveled towards the South, his mind had dwelt on what he had seen in the little guest house and what his relationship with Fiona might eventually cost her. As he had neared the border, he'd seriously thought about turning around and accepting Dan Siebels' offer to get him out of Ireland.

The last time he had spoken to his CIA handler, the man had broached the subject of Fiona Glenanne.

"You're crazy, Michael, and not in a good way. How do you see a relationship with that bomb making, bank robbing little terrorist working out? You're getting attached and you know how dangerous that can be. Look, I've got a nice little assignment on my desk and all it would take is one phone call to Dickie Chambers to get you released back to the CIA. I could have you set up working out of the US embassy in Germany within a week."

Dan had continued to lay it on thick, pointing out he would be back in his designer suits, playing his favorite roll of international man of mystery amongst the rich and powerful of Western Europe, and living in a four star hotel with room service instead of a rundown one bed apartment in a neglected neighborhood. It had been so tempting, but in the end he couldn't do it. He had to get back to that feisty little Irish woman waiting to punch his lights out back in Dublin.

_They would work it out, _he'd told himself. _They were both being careful. He could protect her._

What he had witnessed in the guest-house was still playing on his mind when he'd finally made the slow trudge up the steep concrete steps that led to his sixth floor one bedroom flat.

With some trepidation, he'd slipped his key into the lock and other thoughts had begun to take over. Would she be mad? Or would she be gone? And if she was in there waiting for him, how much pain was going to be involved until she forgave him.

He'd taken a deep breath and unlocked the door. "Fi?" he had called out softly.

He'd let out a huge sigh of relief when he had seen the old couch was still in front of the electric fireplace and a pair of her favorite boots laying on the floor under the nearby coffee table. He remembered how happy he had felt when he'd realized she hadn't left him.

He'd called out again, as it was still in the back of his mind that she was lulling him into a false sense of security before launching an attack. Dropping his bag onto the couch, he'd moved to the bedroom. Cautiously pushing open the door, he had found the room was empty. The bed had been made and, when he opened his wardrobe door, he'd been pleased to see all his clothes were where he'd left them.

Back in the living room, he'd dropped down on to the couch with a huge sigh of relief, thinking she must have been out running an errand. Resting his head back, he had closed his eyes, knowing that as soon as she walked through the door the fireworks would start.

As the tension of the last few days left his body, his hands had slidden off his lap and somehow, while he dozed off, one had fallen between the cushion and the arm of the couch, closing onto a piece of paper.

Opening his eyes, he'd pulled out the scrap of paper thinking it was going to be an old shopping list or maybe a new recipe. Fiona had been spending quite a bit of time with her cousin, Ryan O'Keefe's wife Maura, practicing their cooking skills; at least that was what she had told him. Instead of an innocent list of cooking instructions, he'd found himself staring at a diagram for what looked an awful lot like the plans for an armored truck heist.

He remembered how his heart rate had increased and his hands had trembled as his rage had begun to build. Slowly, he'd crumpled the piece of paper in his hand.

_What the hell was she thinking? She was doing this just to pay him back. She knew how much her criminal activities could affect his job. One slip and, if his name came out, it would mean exposure for both of them._

He'd opened the scrunched up piece of paper, hoping to find some clue about where and when the heist was taking place. The only road identified was the A26.

He'd stared at the map in frustration. All he knew about the A26 was it was in Northern Ireland. He had glanced over at the calendar on the wall. It was the 28th, close to the end of the month. It had come to him in a rush: she was planning on hitting a payroll truck.

Letting out a curse, he'd snatched up his bag and had run from the flat heading for one of the many garages Fiona's bank robbing crew kept around the City.

Jimmying the lock of the nearest one to the flat, he'd rolled up the door and gone to the first car he came to which was going to have the speed he needed to catch up to her. He'd silently prayed he could reach her before she'd done something stupid.

_If she got caught,_ he'd blinked away that thought and another worse one had immediately come to mind: _What if she got killed?" _He'd shaken his head, hoping to rid his mind of those thoughts.

He'd found a ten year old Sierra Cosworth gassed up and ready to go. Jumping into the car, he'd gunned the engine and spun the tires as he'd reversed out onto the road. He'd needed to find out exactly where they were going to hit the truck and he would kill a certain little Irishman if he didn't get the answers he wanted.

Ryan O'Keefe was Fiona's cousin, but he was also a fence for several big time criminals in the City. He would not have been surprised if the man was bank rolling the robbery.

He'd reached the O'Keefe's home and had screeched up onto the driveway. Within seconds, he'd been hammering on the door, only stepping back when the door opened and Ryan O'Keefe had stood before him, his pale blue eyes icy cold.

"Whatcha ya doin har, McBride?" the smaller man had asked angrily.

"Whar's Fiona?" He'd barely trusted himself to speak.

It hadn't helped when O'Keefe had smirked back at him. "If ya lost yar girlfriend, maybe ya should stop sniffing 'round tha whores in Dublin."

Michael had stared in disbelief at the smaller older man. "I -" _What the hell had she told her family?_

"It's no good, Mikey boy. Ya war seen standing on Ha'penny Bridge, eyeing up every lass tha past yar way." He'd given a short laugh. "Ya gotta learn ta keep it in yar pants, boy, if ya want ta date me cousin." O'Keefe had taken a menacing step forward and he'd backed up a step, holding his hand palm out towards the smaller man.

"I never," he had denied it all, while wondering who had seen him and why had he missed the tail. Maybe Dan had been right. Getting attached was effecting his ability to do the job.

"Never thought ya'd get caught, is tha about right, McBride?" O'Keefe had taken another step forward, his hands in fists.

"I wa' about ter say I wa' waitin' fer an auld friend who rang ter say he could fix me up wif a bit o' work."

O'Keefe had paused and slowly his fists had uncurled. "Tha's not what she tol us."

"Do ya tell Maura everythin' ya about, Ryan?" he'd shot back.

O'Keefe had sighed, "She's doin' a job, a RUC payroll travelin' from Ballymena up ta Ballycastle." He'd glanced at his wrist watch. "It's going down inna coupla hours."

"Where?" he'd demanded, trying to contain the urge to knock the Irishman on his ass. _A Royal Ulster Constabulary payroll, they were all insane? If she was arrested, the police would tear through the flat. His fingerprints were all over the place and once his identity became public knowledge... _He'd stopped himself from going there. _He wouldn't let it go that far._

"A few miles outside Ballymena on tha A26, thar's a right hand turn with good cover thar fer goin' ter force - " He hadn't listened to the rest of O'Keefe's words. He had been already running back to the car.

"Yer'll never catch har, McBride, and if ya do, she's out fer yar blood, boy," O'Keefe had shouted.

Michael had to slam on the brakes, as suddenly the traffic up ahead came to a stop. The Sierra tires squealed in protest at the rough handling and Michael let out a stream of expletives. He was too late. Above the queuing traffic, a police helicopter could be seen circling and in the distance he could hear the wail of police sirens and several short bursts of gunfire.

He slammed his fist on the steering wheel, trying to think of a way to gain Fiona's freedom if she wasn't already dead, killed in the gun fight that was taking place somewhere ahead of him. His fingers brushed over his MI6 identification sewn into the lining of his jacket. Maybe he could bluff his way through the police lines and flash his ID badge, claiming Fiona as his prisoner.

If it worked they wouldn't have long before they were found out and then they would be chased down by both the British and American intelligence agencies. Not to mention he would have exposed Fiona as an MI6 asset, which would mean they would be running from the IRA and the whole Glenanne clan as well.

His mind flashed back to the guest-house and Mrs Hanrahan's blood-soaked body and, later in the MI6 Belfast headquarters, the grief-stricken features of her totally devastated husband. No, he couldn't put Fiona through that. If he was going to save her, it had to be done in such a way the name Westen or McBride never came up.

He opened his canvas bag, pulling out a pump action shotgun and a fully automatic machine pistol. After checking both weapons were loaded and ready to use, he placed them on the passenger seat.

Taking another glance out of the window at the circling helicopter, he wrapped his woolen scarf around his face, covering his nose and mouth. With most of his features hidden, he maneuvered the car until he could get a clear run at crossing the grass covered central median.

He paused and took a deep breath. If he went ahead with this plan, he would be stepping way over the line. It was nothing less than an unsanctioned attack on a friendly nation's police force and for what? An asset everybody in the agency wanted him to cut loose. He was surprised when he realized he no longer cared what his agency bosses wanted, at least in the matter of Fiona Glenanne.

With the decision made to go ahead, he cut off all thoughts about right and wrong. He had a single purpose. The only thing that mattered now was the end result and to hell with anything or anybody who got in his way.

The Sierra wheels spun and then ploughed through the damp grass. Luckily, the four wheel drive kept it moving forward in a straight line. As soon as the tires hit the road on the opposite carriageway, he put his foot down hard on the accelerator. He hadn't felt this focused for years.

As the car rocketed along the empty stretch of road, he wound down the window and then picked up the machine pistol. The first order of business was to make the British Army Westland Gazelle helicopter back off. It was unarmed, but while it was up there they stood little chance of getting away. It would be able to follow their escape route at a safe distance and report back to the ground forces.

He guessed if he managed to ground the Gazelle, it would take at least twenty minutes for one of the armed Lynx choppers to reach the scene. It was twenty minutes they could use to get away from the immediate area. Looking upwards at the helicopter closing in on the only car on an empty carriageway, he lifted the machine pistol and opened fire.

He caught them by surprise. Before they could back off, several of his shots hit the under carriage of the chopper. He did his best to miss the parts of the Gazelle that would cause it to explode, but it was difficult while he was driving at close to seventy miles an hour and hanging out of his car window. More of his bullets pinged off the bodywork and then a black plume of smoke appeared and the craft began a slow lazy descent over a nearby field.

Quickly bringing the gun back into the car, Michael worked to eject the spent clip and replace it with a fresh one while continuing to drive at high speed towards where he could see the officers of the RUC trying to maneuver their cars to block his path.

Bullets were now pinging off the Sierra and he felt the engine stutter and the water gauge suddenly lit up, informing him the radiator had been hit. Ignoring the smoke streaming out from under the hood and the warning lights flashing away on the dashboard, he concentrated solely on keeping the car moving. Picking up the machine pistol again, he began to return fire.

Ahead of him bullets zinged passed the police and tore into their vehicles, causing the officers to scatter. They were being hit from two sides now as the armed robbers, who minutes earlier had been on the verge of surrendering, were now back in the fight. Under the barrage of bullets, the officers had no choice but to withdraw and await re-enforcements.

By the time Michael crashed into the wrecked police cars blocking the road, Fiona and her gang were preparing to take advantage of the diversion and make a break for freedom. The gang's driver had managed to get one of their cars started and they were all piling inside when Fiona caught a glimpse of the crazy man behind the wheel of the car attacking the police.

With a wave of her hand, she ordered her crew to leave her behind. As they took off along the grass verge, she opened fire on the police using up the last of her bullets to reach the battered Sierra and Michael.

As soon as Fiona dropped into the passenger seat, Michael spun the wheel and headed towards a side road. Meanwhile, Fiona pulled the black balaclava from her head and then delved into Michael's bag looking for a fresh clip for her hand gun. With the gun reloaded, she turned to him, her face alight with a mixture of emotions.

"Ya bastid," she snarled "What tha bloody hell d'ya think yar doin'?" She punched him hard on his arm.

"Savin' your butt," he snapped back, losing his Irish accent as his own temper flared. "Why'd ya tell O'Keefe I cheated on you?"

"Ya war seen, ya idjit," she answered. "Bloody clever fer a spy getting spotted by Susie from the floor below us? Her husband went ter prison las' year fer killin' tha' bouncer at Pat's place."

Michael shook his head, not even looking at her, as he concentrated on the narrow winding roads. They went over a humpback bridge, flying up into the air before landing hard back on the road. The engine noises were now nearly deafening as part of the exhaust was left behind in the road.

"Jayzuz! Watch wha' yar doin! Anyway, Susie came back an told me she saw ya leaning agin tha bridge, staring at every female tha' past ya by. Wha' did ya want me ter do - blow yar cover?" Sarcasm dripped from her tongue.

"So you thought it was a good idea to get yourself involved in a high risk robbery? Are ya trying ter get us bot' killed?"

"Oh, don't ya go thar, Michael _Westen. _I wa' robbing banks and amored trucks a long time befer ya came along. We war doin' jus' fine widoutcha."

"Fine! Ya call tha' doin' fine?" He broke off and glared at her over the top of the scarf, which still hid his features. "Cover your face. We have company."

Fiona huffed, glared and then pulled the balaclava back over her head before looking behind at the police motorcycle closing in on them, followed by at least one police car in the distance.

"War never goin' ter lose them in this," she commented, before leaning out of the window to open fire and hopefully dissuade the officer from getting any closer. "Ya've wrecked one of me favorite cars. D'ya know how much it cost me?" She began ricocheting rounds off the ground, causing the motorbike to swerve and eventually crash.

Michael made a quick turn onto an even narrower road, this one had grass growing along the center. "If I remember correctly, you stole it on your last _business trip_ to Manchester. It cost you the price of a ticket on the Holyhead to Belfast ferry crossing. I've got tha twenty quid in me pocket if it means tha' much ter ya."

Fiona looked up from where she was concentrating on reloading her handgun. "I didn't ask ya ter be me white knight, Michael, and to be honest, yar not very good at it. Pretty soon, they're gonna regroup and surround us and ya've got us driving down a farm track."

"Take the wheel," he growled.

"Wha'? Michael, wha' are ya doing?" she gasped as he slid behind her onto the back seat, leaving her to keep the car moving in a straight line. "Michael?" she demanded when he didn't answer her.

She risked a glance and saw he had hold of a brick of Semtex.

"Wha' are ya gonna do wiv tha?"

He looked up, grinning behind the scarf that was still in place. "Watch."

He had noticed the explosive when he had gotten back into the car at O'Keefe's and he knew in any vehicle belonging to Fiona Glenanne, if there was explosives, he would also find detonators if he looked hard enough. With the brick of Semtex wired up, he wound down the window and leaned out as far as he could. With his head out of the window, it was possible to see the two cars closing in on them.

Throwing the block out of the car, he watched it land and bounce several times through the black smoke coming from the broken exhaust. When he thought they were clear, he pressed the switch and ducked back inside the car.

**! BOOM !**

The noise was deafening and large lumps of stone from the walls bordering the road rained down over the Sierra.

Fiona turned and, even through the thick woolen mask, he could make out her beaming smile. "Beautiful, simply beautiful, Michael... I almost forgive ya fer breakin' me car."

"I'm glad you approve. See those trees up ahead? That's where we're goin'."

"Wha'?" she asked in a cool flat tone.

"We get in there and we'll be safe. They won't risk following us in. It's getting dark and we've already shown that we're willing to shoot down helicopters and blow up roads to get away. They'll set up guard posts and patrols around the perimeter and leave it to the army to flush us out."

Suddenly, the decision was taken out of their hands as the car coughed, spluttered and, with a loud bang and grinding shriek, died with thick white smoke billowing out from under the hood as the car finally died.

Michael was instantly out of the car and opening the front door to grab the bag. "C'mon Fi, I'm right about this. I know what I'm talking about."

"How? How d'ya know they won' jus' come in after us?"

He paused, just for a second, before pulling off his scarf and pushing one end into the gas tank. "Please, Fi, stop askin' questions and jus' do what I say. I've done this sorta thing before." He patted down his pockets. "You gotta light?"

"Fine, I'll stop askin' questions - fer now." She leaned back into the car and pressed down on the cigarette lighter. Standing upright after a couple of seconds, she stepped over and used the lighter to set Michael's scarf alight. "But after a night in tha woods, yar payin' fer me next manicure."

They set off towards the forest at a steady run, ducking down when the Sierra exploded and removed all evidence of who had been inside, before setting off again at a faster pace. If the noise of the explosion hadn't given away their position, the great cloud of black smoke rising up into the air was going to be attracting attention from miles around.

Fiona followed Michael across the open gorse-covered ground, grinning insanely even though her breaths were coming in short sharp bursts, all the time her eyes were scanning the area in front and to the sides, her body tingling with the anticipation of a fresh gun battle.

_This is wha' I live for. Adrenaline pumping through me veins, me heart beating so hard 'n fast it feels like it's gonna burst outta me chest. Every one of me senses is on high alert an' ready fer action. Thar's nutting else like it, nutting in tha world. Life an' death so close ta-gether tha' one misstep and I'll be dead an' gone. _

_But I know tha ain't gonna happen. If I wa' ter die today, I swear by all tha's holy, Michael McBride would face down tha devil himsel' ter bring me back. Wha' other man would take on tha whole of County Antrim's Police force an' tha British army fer a girl? Even if tha girl in question dinnae need tha help. _

They kept running until they were surrounded by the densely packed conifers that covered the sides of the Slieveanorra Mountain. The scent of pine from the discarded needles on the forest floor mingling with the heady aroma of gunpowder and smoke was all adding to Fiona's feeling of reckless abandon. As she ran, Fiona's thoughts centered on how it had come to this.

_The plan to rob the armored truck had begun perfectly. Using three cars, they had boxed the truck in and forced it into a gap in the wide verge at the center of the road. Shooting out the tires had gotten it to stop and then it had just been a case of attaching the shaped charge to the back doors. _

_Unfortunately, nobody could have known that a police helicopter out on patrol monitoring the traffic flow would be flying overhead and witness the truck being forced off the roadway. Nor that an RUC patrol car making its way towards Ballymena would get the alert when it was a mere three miles from the scene of the incident._

_So what had started off as a simple smash and grab, as Fiona liked to call it, had ended up with them fast reaching the stage of having to decide to either surrender or go down in a blaze of glory. She had wanted to continue fighting. She remembered urging the others on. _

_"C'mon, wha's up wiv ya bunch o' babbies? We jus' need ter clear a path ter one o' tha cars." She had urged them to keep up the fight. The thought of thirty years in a cold prison cell had scared her more than the thought of being shot to death in the middle of the road._

_She remembered accepting that she was going to die a bloody mess, no open gasket for Mrs. Glenanne's only girl, and then the dark blue Sierra Cosworth she had stolen six months earlier on a day trip to Manchester had appeared with smoke streaming out from under the bonnet and …..._

"I think we should be safe now. They're not going to follow us in here. They'll wait for the army to arrive."

Michael's words pulled her out of her musings and she looked across to where he stood with his back to her, staring out from between the trees onto the road far below. She wondered how much he could actually see as the autumn sun had gone down and what little light there was making everything appear grey and dull.

She moved to his side, still breathing heavily, her eyes drawn to the horizon and a distance flashing light. "I see yar friends 'ave come back ter play." She pointed to where her sharp eyes had picked out a helicopter hovering on the skyline.

"Aye," he replied. "But ya notice, it's keeping its distance so it's not gonna bother us."

She stood silently at his side, trying contain the urge to be on the move. _Maybe fire off a coupla rounds and watch tha scum run fer cover. Maybe wing one or two jus' ter give 'em a reminder they arn't facin' amateurs. _Her trigger finger itched and the gun in her hand felt heavy. _It would be a helluva lot lighter wiv an empty clip. _But then Michael spoke, distracting her from her thoughts of bloody mayhem.

"I'm guessing the rest of your crew must be keeping the other half o' County Antrim's finest busy. We should take advantage of their lack of numbers an' keep moving. If we're lucky, we can make it to the South side an' get ahead of the patrols."

He turned away and began to lead the way, only looking back when she failed to follow. "Fi? C'mon, remember what I said. I've done this sorta thing before."

Biting down on her lower lip, Fiona ceased contemplating the deaths of the members of the Royal Ulster Constabulary milling about below and turned to where Michael stood watching her with concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine, Michael," she snapped and then stepping lightly, she took the lead, taking them deeper into the forest.

An hour later and Fiona was bored. It was pitch black amongst the trees and getting colder by the minute. What made things worse was all the adrenaline from the chase was still coursing through her veins, making her feel jittery. She needed an outlet for all the stored up aggression.

"Wha's the plan, Michael? Because if it involves me trippin' o'er any more fallen branches, I swear t' god I jus' might have ter shoot ya fer bringing me up har."

"Okay." She could hear the laughter in his tone and restrained the urge to march over and hit him. "We'll stop fer a bit." He shrugged the bag off his back and dropped it down onto the forest floor. "In another couple of hours, we'll make our way back down an find us some tired guards ta put ter sleep."

"So war safe har?" Fiona asked, pushing her gun into her waistband and rubbing her hands together for warmth.

"As safe as we can be." His teeth flashed in the darkness as he smiled across at her. Bending down, he opened the bag and pulled out a woolen sweater. "Here, put this on." He handed her the article.

She took the sweater and stripped off the padded leather jacket she'd worn to help disguise her figure during the robbery. Just as she went to pull it over her head, she stopped and rubbed her fingers over the soft wool.

"Michael, is this tha cashmere jumper I gave ya fer yar birthday?" She kept her tone neutral, but inside she was fuming. _Oh, this is the last straw._

He looked over at her from where he was leaning against a tree. "Huh? Yeah, I guess. I've not had chance ta wear it yet," he answered casually before returning to stare straight ahead.

_I spent a rainy Saturday afternoon draggin' around tha market stalls on Cow Lane lookin' fer tha right gift. A designer cashmere jumper tha cost me nearly a hundred Punts and he uses it ter wrap around his guns! _

She couldn't believe his ingratitude.

_Two hours o' getting wet and havin' ter shove me way through packs o' tourists, an' all tha locals an' then another hour tryin' ter find tha right shade o' blue ta match his eyes..._ _I'm gonna kill 'im._

Gritting her teeth, she took a step in his direction. "Are ya sure we're not abou' ter be surrounded by any o' them Orange bastids?" She did her best to hide her true intent.

"As sure as I can be," Michael replied, flashing a brief smile in her direction. She took another step towards him, followed quickly by another until she was in front of him. "Fi?" he asked warily.

She could tell he was finally catching on that he had slipped up, but it was too late for him to make amends. The punch caught him totally unawares, a neat uppercut which sent his head rocking back into the tree trunk with a solid and rather satisfying thud.

"Fuck!" he yelped, putting a hand to the back of his head.

She threw another punch, this one aimed at his gut, which he blocked easily. "Fi," he hissed angrily, "Qhat the hell?"

"Don'cha swear at me, Michael McBride." she scolded, using the palms of her hands to push him flat against the tree trunk. "And don' use tha expensive gifts I buy ya ter keep yar guns from bein' knocked about or scratched."

"Fi," he finally muttered. "I'm sor -"

But she wasn't interested in his apology, every nerve ending was stretched to its limit, her heart was pumping fast and furious. _God, I dunno if I wan' ter kill 'im or …..._

She cut his words off with a hard demanding kiss, her lips pressing tightly against his while her tongue ran enticingly along his teeth.

The release of all the built up tension caused by the day's activities was like a hot tide of pleasure that flooded her synapses. She was surrounded by danger, there were men less than a mile away who wanted her dead, but it didn't matter. She'd had the best day and now she was going to have the best night because God only knew if they were going to have a tomorrow.

Suddenly he was pushing her away, jerking his chin to break from the kiss. "We've got half of Antrim's police force camped less than a mile away," he hissed.

"An' ya said we wa' safe, tha' none o' those bastids would dare come looking fer us." Her eyes flashed, as she dropped a shoulder to break his hold and stepped in closer. This time instead of her resting her hand on his chest, she cupped the front of his jeans, pressing firmly into him. She gazed into his eyes with a smile that dared him to resist her advances as the fingers of her free hand walked their way up his jacket until they reached the zipper.

"We'll just 'ave ter be very quiet. D'ya think ya can manage tha', Michael?"

She watched the indecision on his face, the way he looked around, scanning the dark perimeter for an enemy incursion. While he was undecided, she took the matters into her own hands and finished unzipping his jacket, stepping in close to benefit from the heat coming off his body. She watched his throat as he swallowed and her gaze moved up to catch sight of his tongue flickering out to wet his lips.

She flexed her fingers around the growing bulge in the front of his jeans and her smile broadened as he hardened against the pressure.

"Fi, we - " his voice came out as a strangled whisper.

"Shhh." The hand which had opened his jacket moved upwards to ghost over his cheek and then up into his hair, her fingers curving to scrape across his scalp. "Ya need ter keep quiet. Remember all them bad men waiting ter arrest us," she taunted, before dragging his head down until their lips met in a hard rough kiss, no longer asking for entrance to his mouth but demanding it.

While one hand gripped the short hair on his head holding him fast in to the kiss, her other hand worked on unfastening his jeans and slipping inside his boxers.

He gasped as her cold hand brushed against his stomach, before moving on to his hip and then lower. Her slender fingers trailed over sensitive skin, walking the length of his manhood, rubbing gently over the tip, before curling around him in a light teasing grip.

"God, Michael ya spoil me, an' it isn't even me birthday." She was working on the buttons of his shirt, kissing every bit of skin she exposed.

"Fiona," he gulped and when she looked up, it was her turn to gasp as his mouth closed over hers and one arm snaked around her shoulders crushing her against his chest.

She felt the gun being pulled from her waistband and the sensation of cold hard metal replaced by a warm rough palm as Michael's hand slid into the space between her skin and jeans.

"Ah, ya beautiful girl," he groaned into her ear as his hand pushed lower, reaching the curve of her buttocks. "Yar gonna be tha death 'o me."

"Aye, mebbe I will, b' tonight I have other plans fer ya."

Carried away on a wave of passion, she dropped to her knees before him and reveled in the gasp that her actions elicited from him as her mouth closed over the tip of his engorged penis. She used her elbows, digging into his trembling thighs to keep him still as she proceeded to drive him wild.

The breeze blowing through the trees causing the branches high above their heads to whisper and creak could be hiding the approach of British soldiers or RUC officers. The occasional owl hooting in the distance or any of the other noises that brought the forest to life in the dead of night might be the signal for their enemies to attack. They were exposed and vulnerable, but it didn't stop her torturing the man towering over her.

The feel of the damp, uneven ground under her knees, the taste of him in her mouth, the pull on her scalp from the fingers fisting in her hair and the low grunting breaths as he fought so hard to stay silent, it was an exhilarating sensation and she wanted more.

She let go and with a soft sigh looked up to see he was on the edge of losing control. Her lips parted as she followed the rivlets of sweat that trailed down his chest. As she leaned forward, intending to kiss her way up over the ridges of his abs, a low rumbling growl was the only warning she got as Michael's fingers, freed from her hair, gripped her shoulders and pulled her on to her feet into a hard deep kiss, his mouth tight against hers, their teeth clashing until she surrendered to his demands.

She had no idea how she ended up laying on the forest floor with Michael's jacket between her and the cold ground instead of her jeans. She arched her back and a low moan escaped from her lips. She was on fire and Michael's hands, mouth and tongue were the only balm that could cool her fever. She momentarily panicked when his hand covered her mouth.

"Shhh, ma love, shhh," he whispered in her ear, his silky breath like a gossamer caress.

She bit down on his palm and instantly kissed it better. Her fingers raked along his back and clawed into his buttocks, causing him to gasp. Over the top of his hand, her eyes sparkled with mischief and then he was pushing into her with short gentle thrusts, each one taking him a little deeper. His hand remained over her mouth while he dropped his head down, burying it into the crook of her neck.

They moved together, slow deep thrusts, the pleasure intensified by the need for silence and the thought of being caught. It was a sweet delicious torture that could not be maintained for long. She could feel Michael's body quivering, his muscles tensing as he tried to keep control. She held him close, her own body shaking and pulsing as she was suddenly hit with wave after wave of orgasmic delight. She stared up over his shoulder through the trees to the clear night sky. His body was jerking and twitching out of control, coughing cries muffled in her hair as he finally released into her. Up in the sky, she watched a shooting star pass over head and a long deep sigh escaped her lips as his hand left her mouth and he collapsed against her.

"Jesus, Fi," Michael finally sighed as he regained control of his senses.

Rolling off her, he pulled up his boxers and jeans before laying back and pulling her over so her head rested on his shoulder. "I am sorry I messed up tha sweater. I dinnae know how important it wa' ter ya," he tried to apologized.

"And wha' about treating me like some damsel in distress. Are ya sorry fer that too?" Fiona asked as she wriggled back into her own jeans.

Michael shifted so her head fell onto his arm as he turned to face her. "No, 'am nae sorry fer rescuing yar butt from tha RUC." He put a finger to her lips to stop the angry retort he knew was coming. "But ter make up fer me short comin's, I'll let ya tek care o' tha first guard we come across."

Fiona thought about it as she got to her feet. With all the tension released, she was feeling generous. "Fine, I'll take down tha first, but I'll let ya help wiv tha rest."

Joining her, he'd retrieved her hand gun and handed it back to her. "Thank ya kindly, luv. Now can I lead tha way?"

"Only if ya promise not ter get us lost."

In the pitch black darkness of the night, Michael led the way off the mountain, keeping his word to let her take down the first of the thinly spread RUC officers trying to cover the whole of the forest perimeter.

Stealing a police car, they drove it only as far as the nearest village before going in search of a more anonymous vehicle. By the morning, they were back in the safety of their small flat, curled up together under an old duvet entwined in each others arms.


	3. Dublin April '99

**WHO WE ONCE WERE.**

**A/N: Thank Jedi Skysinger for BETAing this chapter.  
><strong>

**Abandoned**

_**Dublin: April 1999**_

With the muffled hollow banging of doors being slammed shut, the rapid thud of shoes on the concrete floor of the balcony and the loud piercing shrieks of children heading off to school, Fiona Glenanne woke up positive that she must have died and gone to hell.

"Ya bastid," she groaned, wincing as her head pounded away like somebody was doing a frigging Irish jig in her skull. "I'll kill ya. Ah swear by all tha's holy, I'll knock ya inta next week fer this." She could have sworn she hadn't drunk enough to give her such a blinding headache.

Turning onto her side, she reached out for the object of her anger. But instead of her fingers skimming over warm skin, she discovered only cold sheets. Opening her eyes, she lifted her head off the pillow to look around. But before she could do anything more, her stomach clenched and bile rose up into her throat. Gasping, she scrambled out from under the covers and made a mad dash for the bathroom, only just making it in time as vomit sprayed from her mouth and luckily into the toilet.

Dropping to the floor, she held her hair out of the way as her stomach continued to empty itself. Finally, it was all over. Still coughing and gagging and with her head spinning, Fiona staggered to her feet and over to the cracked enamel sink. Using her arms to brace herself, she stood leaning forward as her body shook and beads of cold sweat broke out on her forehead and neck. _It had ta be tha beef, tha idjit musta bought some bad meat._

Having washed out her mouth, she reached for her toothbrush. It was there, but all alone. _Tha's odd, _she thought. Then she let her gaze wander over to the bath and overhead shower.

His shampoo, conditioner and body wash were all gone too. _Tha's not right._

Slowly reaching out, she opened the medicine cabinet door.

No aftershave, razors, or shaving cream. _This is not happenin'! It tisn't real. It's a mistake. He wouldnae leave – not wid out tellin' me._

Her bottom lip began to tremble as she sprinted back to the bedroom and flung open his side of the wardrobe to find nothing but empty hangers waving and jingling on the rail.

"He wouldnae…" Shaking her head in denial ,she dragged open the drawers that normally held his underwear, t-shirts and jumpers to find them just as empty as the wardrobe.

_Her head! _She rubbed at her temples as she walked into the living space. This was no ordinary headache. He had cooked dinner, beef in a red wine sauce.

She sank down on to the couch and hunched forward with her arms wrapped around her. _He drugged me, s_he sniffed. There was no other explanation. He had masked the taste of whatever he had given her in the rich sauce.

She sniffed again and felt her eyes fill with tears. _I__ will not cry, I will not cry, I will not... _A sob ripped its way out from her chest, the headache forgotten as her chest tightened and suddenly she couldn't breathe. Gasping, she began to rock as the tears fell.

_He wa' so loving and attentive, he cooked fer me, made love ta me, whispered sweet endearments in me ear. He held me in his arms as I fell asleep, promised ta be wid me forever. I trusted ham, loved ham. We war gonna ter be t'gether forever. He promised. He wa' takin' me on his secret missions. We war a team, I got ham outta tha' disco in Holland an' he went against his own people savin' me fram tha soldiers when they came fer me._

She wiped furiously at the tears. _He tricked me, made love ta me knowing that he wa' going ta leave. Tha bastid made me trust ham._

She had known all along that he wouldn't be in Ireland forever, but she had envisioned traveling the world with him, helping out on assignments. It was to have been her secret, her own life away from her brothers watching her every move, away from having to have her every action sanctioned by the family.

"_So, who is dis fella yar dating?" Liam had growled out the question during a Sunday dinner at their mother's house._

_She had felt so uncomfortable under the gaze of the whole family. She had looked from one to the other: their mother, Liam her oldest brother and head of the family, Seamus, his wife Isabelle, and Colin. All sitting with their full attention fixed on her, waiting to be informed on every detail of her latest beau. She had just been grateful that Sean and his family were away on holiday so she hadn't had to deal with him adding to the atmosphere filled with disapproval._

"_His name is Michael an' his jus' a friend," she had answered sullenly._

"_So, when are we goin' ta meet ham?" Liam continued his questioning in between mouthfuls of roast lamb._

"_I said, he's jus' a friend. Ya don' have ta meet ham at all." Her heart had started thudding in her chest as she wondered exactly how much her brother knew._

"_I hear tell his name is Michael McBride, his fram Kilkenny an' he's been sleepin' in yar bed most nights o' tha week," Liam had shot back._

"_Tha's none o' yar business, Liam," she had snapped in reply, before looking at all the disapproving faces. "It's none o' any of yars business who I invite inta me bed. Am a grown woman. I kin do wha' I like."_

"_It tis me business when ya put tha family at risk. Who is he? Wha's his affiliations? Have ya had him checked out? Ya put yar trust in tha wrong one, girl, an' we could all be fer it. Ya wan' ta see us all banged up cos ya've fallen fer a pretty face?"_

"Trusted tha wrong man," she sobbed brokenly. Getting to her feet, she made her way into the kitchen.

"He's not tha wrong man! It's a mistake. He'll come back..." She reached into the fridge and pulled out a half full bottle of red wine. "He'll come back."

_**A week later...**_

Bernadette Murphy stood in the doorway of her sixth floor flat, one arm tightly wrapped around her waist holding a fleece cardigan closed around her thickset body. Her other arm rose and fell at regular intervals as she smoked a cigarette and stared out at the dull, cloud-filled sky. She prayed she had done the right thing and that she hadn't left it too late. She also prayed she wasn't about to get a bullet to the back of her head for interfering in something that had nothing to do with her.

She had been concerned for days by all the noise coming from the neighboring flat, all the loud crashes and the shouting and then the crying had eventually become too much to bear. Her neighbors were a wild couple, of that there was no doubt. They would come home at all hours and, when they fought, it was loud enough to wake the dead. The sound of breaking furniture over the last few days wasn't something that under normal circumstances would have worried her. Because normally on the following day, she would see them out and about, back to being a happy, nearly always smiling couple, walking hand in hand or him with his arm draped over her shoulders keeping her close.

He was a quiet one, but she always had a kind word for the kiddies and, when at home, would spend hours standing out on the balcony gossiping with the girls. Now though, she shook and turned her head towards her neighbor's door. The curtains had been drawn for a week and nobody had seen hide nor hair of either of them.

They kept it quiet, but everybody knew who she was, Miss Fiona Glenanne. Her brothers were known men, but it a lot of ways she was even more infamous. Women in the IRA were kept in the background; after all, the dirty business of fighting a guerilla war was man's work. She was one of maybe a handful of women who were full active members and got the same respect and fear as the men.

At the sound of a car door slamming, she moved forward to peer over the balcony wall to the street below. She watched as the man she was waiting for left his large fancy silver car and came running up to the entrance of the block of flats.

_Dis wa' it. _She remained on the balcony, listening to the sound of his heavy foot falls echoing up from the stairwell. While she waited, she shifted nervously from one pink slipper clad foot to the other and ran her fingers through her hair before pulling a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. By the time the door to the stairs swung open, she was half way through her latest nicotine fix and she wasn't only shaking from the cold.

Ryan O'Keefe was short and slightly built with sandy brown hair and sharp angular features. He was a known man, too. He was a fixer and a money man for the Dublin underworld and he was also a cousin to the Glenanne family.

"Mr. O'Keefe, sur, Am so sorry ta be bothering ya, but we're all so worried about yar cousin, Fiona," Bernadette spoke as soon as he was close enough to hear.

"So, wha' has ya so worried?" He was in front of her now, but he was staring past her to the door to his cousin's flat.

"It's like I said ta ya on tha phone, nobody has seen either o' dem fer o'er a week an' tha noises comin' fram inside, I swear it sounded like a murder wa' takin' place. We tried knockin' but they don' answer, an' me fella wa' all fer callin' tha Garda, so I thought it best ta call ya instead."

"Ya did tha right thing," Ryan thanked her. Pulling out a roll of cash, he thrust several notes into her hand. "I'll sort it out fer ya, missus. Young people, huh?"

"D'ya wan' me ta wait -"

"Nah, get away wit cha inta the warm. This'll turn out ta be sommit about nuttin'."

He waited for her to go inside and then banged loudly on the door. "Fi, McBride, 'Tis me. Open up!"

He rattled the letter box and then bent over to peer inside. What he saw had him standing up and stepping back, his right leg coming up to deliver one, two, three hard kicks to the door until it caved in from the assault.

As soon as he broke down the door, he rushed inside; the snub-nose revolver he always carried in his pocket was now in his hand. The lounge was a mess, furniture over turned, ornaments smashed, empty liquor bottles rolling about on the carpet.

"Fi! McBride!" he called out again, thumbing the hammer back, ready to fire, his heart leaping in his chest. _This wa' bad, so vary, vary bad._

Reaching the bedroom door, he paused to take a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he might find. Turning the handle, he slowly pushed the door open and gasped.

The room was a bigger mess than the lounge. Somebody had taken a knife to the mattress and the pillows. Feathers from the tattered remains of the pillows covered every surface and the mattress was sliced up so badly that the springs were exposed in several places. Over in one corner of the room, the rest of the bedding was ripped up and lay in a pile.

"Jayzuz, fecking hell." He spun around, taking in the devastation surrounding him. _Whar tha hell war Fiona and Michael? Had somebody taken dem? Wha' tha hell had dey been up ta?_

He turned back to the lounge, his hands hanging limply at his side all the while he was staring at the mess. His stomach tightened as he realized he was going to have to call the family. He was going to have to tell the Glenanne boys that their sister was missing. _Shite! _He was going to be the one to tell his Aunty Maeve her last baby girl was missing.

"Feck, feck, feck," he cursed as he searched for the telephone, following the lead until he spied the white slim-line wall phone laying on the floor half hidden under one of the seat cushions from the upturned couch. Sucking in a breath, he reached for the phone when he heard a scraping noise.

Whirling around with his gun aimed back at the bedroom, he cautiously re-entered the room and stared for a second as a small bruised and swollen feminine hand appeared from within the discarded pile of sheets.

"Mary, mudder o' God!" Relief flooded his body. S_he wa' alive._

He rushed to her side, staring at her tear stained face. Her whole body was shaking and, as he got closer, he caught the stink of strong spirits. He drew in a sharp breath at the sight of her bruised, torn knuckles and the long deep scratch marks on her arms and neck. _She looks like she's been in one helluva fight._

"Fiona, Fiona darlin', wha happened ta ya?" he spoke gently as he sank down in front of her and cupped her face in his hands. She looked straight through him.

"C'mon, sweetheart, wha' happened? Whar's McBride? Who did dis ta ya?" he pleaded for her to show some sign of life, to tell him who had caused her so much pain.

She continued to stare blankly through him, her body trembling under his hands. He bit down on his bottom lip, desperately trying to think what to do for the best, but he hadn't a clue.

"Fiona!" he spoke sharply, giving her a shake. "Wha' happened, girl? Answer me!"

She stiffened in his arms; a spark of light came into her eyes, but then dimmed almost instantly. "Ah want me mam," she whispered. "Ah want me mudder." Her voice rose and a sob shook her body. "Get me outta o' har. Ah – c-can't – "

More sobs racked her thin frame and Ryan, more shaken than he had ever been in his life, nodded. "O-kay, sweetheart, c'mon then. Let's get ya outta har an' to yar mammy's. Yar safe now."

He tried to help her up, but she couldn't stand. The more he looked at her, the more concerned he became and the more he was thinking Michael McBride was a dead man. In the end, he wrapped her in a blanket and carried her out of the flat and to his car. Putting her on the back seat, he got into the front and pulled away with a squeal of tires. As he drove, he got out his mobile phone and pressed 3 on the speed dial.

"Aunty Maeve, Ah've got your Fiona in me car. She's inna bad way, Am bringin' har ta ya... No, I dunno wha's wrong wid har. She's got a helluva lot o' bruises but nuttin' else, not tha' I kin see... Yes, I think ya should get yar boys ta come home, I'll be wit ya soon."

_**()()**_

_She knew where she was and she knew exactly what had happened. She had been rescued and was on her way home. She had been lost, but now she was found. She had been a fool, but never again._

_She had been wrong. He had left, he hadn't called, he didn't love her... He had used her and now he was gone..._

_She was no man's goddamn asset that could be used and then tossed aside!_

_On the first day, she had drunk the half-full bottle of red wine and then torn through the flat looking for a note. He had to have left her note. He couldn't have been so heartless. She had cried herself to sleep hugging his pillow and breathing in his scent._

_On the second day, she had stared at all the mess her search for a note had caused and, with the help of a bottle of whiskey, she had spent the day cleaning and polishing._

_She had woken on the third day on the floor of the living room and had finally come to the realization that he wasn't coming back. He had left without a word to go God only knew where. She wasn't even sure he had told her his real name. Michael McBride, Michael Westen, was his real name even Michael?_

_On that third day, part of her died. She felt it, inside her chest, a dark hollow pit where her heart had once resided. She felt nothing. She was dead inside. She drank the remains of the bottle of whiskey and then went in search of the cooking brandy._

_She remembered clearly standing in the bedroom, staring at what had once been their bed that was now only hers. Her fingers had tightened around the handle of the carving knife in her hand, her lips had curled into a snarl and, as she released a pain filled cry, she had plunged the blade into the mattress._

_She set herself the task of destroying every single thing that reminded her of her ex-lover, he had taken his clothes and his guns and even his goddamn toothbrush, but he was still haunting her. How unfair was that? After all, she was the one that had died._

_The brandy was gone, but she had found the stash of sixteen bottles of poteen, all that was left from their experiments with distilling._

"Fiona, sweetheart, war nearly thar. I'll have ya wif yar Mammy soon, darlin'."

_She remembered feeling his breath tickling her neck as he leaned in close against her, their hands working in unison as they measured out the ingredients. Each time their fingers tips touched, it felt like sparks ignited. She would never feel that level of passion again. Her soul mate had deserted her and she had no explanation as to why._

She closed her eyes and wished she was back in the flat. There was one remaining bottle of the illegally brewed alcohol buried away under the sheets. Maybe that one last bottle would have been the one to fill the void in her soul.

_**()()**_

Maeve Glenanne paced back and forth along the gravel path that led from the drive to her front door. Her delicate bird-like features were set in hard grim lines.

"_War tha hell are dey?" _She glanced at her watch and stared out across the manicured lawn to the winding road that led to her home. _"Wha's tekin' ham so long?"_

As soon as she had put the house phone down from her nephew's call, she had rushed into the kitchen and gotten out the pre-paid phone that Liam had left for her use in case of an emergency. Any one of the family that saw the number come up on their caller ID would answer immediately, regardless of what they were doing or where they were.

Within five minutes, she knew all her boys were on their way home. With the call made, she had gone to the front door. Fiona lived on the other side of the city. On a normal drive, the journey took less than half an hour. Now fifteen minutes had past and Ryan still hadn't arrived. _Tha boy use ta drive getaway cars, wha tha hell is he playin' at?_

Then she caught a glimpse, a sudden flash of silver, and moments later she heard the roar of a high performance car being put through its paces. As she hurried down to the driveway, she was greeted by the sight and sound of gravel being sprayed up into the air as Ryan's car came to a screeching halt.

She watched as her brother's only son jumped from the car and opened the back door before reaching inside. When he turned, she gasped and her hand went to her mouth at the sight of her baby girl hanging limply in his arms.

"Oh, me god, Ryan, wha' happened? Wha's happened to me babby?" As he walked past her, his face set in grim angry lines, she followed behind reaching out to touch her little girl's arm, shocked at how cold she was even wrapped in a blanket.

"Tek har straight inta tha front parlour an' put har by tha fire." She had to run to keep up with Ryan's rapid strides.

As soon as he placed Fiona down onto the couch in front of the blazing fire, Maeve pushed him out of the way and sat down next to her only daughter. "Oh, Fiona, wha's happened? Ar' ya hurt, child?" She stroked her daughter's matted greasy hair and then wrinkled her nose at the smell of liquor which seemed to be coming from the young woman's skin.

"Ryan?" She turned to her nephew, her blue-green eyes searching his face for a clue as to what had happened.

"I gotta call fram thar next door neighbor. She'd heard shoutin' an' crying'. But nobody would go inside. Cos, well, dey wa' all scared o' who dey are. So, she called me ta come sort 'em out."

"McBride did this?" Her voice went up an octave. "He hurt me girl?"

"He warn't thar. She wa' all alone and tha place has been ripped t'pieces." He looked worriedly at his cousin. "I tink dey musta had a big blow out an' he's left har. Thar wa' nothin' of the man's d'ere."

Maeve sighed and turned back to Fiona, who hadn't moved. She was sitting upright, staring into space with a blank expression. "Tha boys 'll be har soon. Go make yarsel' a cuppa. Am gonna help Fiona ta bed."

"Ya wan' me ta carry har? She's not walkin' so well."

"Fiona, ah wan cha get up nae. C'mon, girl, tis time fer bed." Maeve got to her feet and gave her daughter's arm a sharp tug.

"Mammy?" Fiona looked up, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Mammy, I -"

"Come on, angel, I tink ya need a sleep in a nice comfy bed."

Fiona sniffed and then slowly got to her feet. She was shaky and Maeve had to hold onto her tightly. But they eventually made it up stairs and to room she kept set aside for her daughter.

Ever since Liam had bought the big fancy stone manor house for her, Maeve had kept a room for each of her children, so whenever they came to stay, they had their own private space. Over the years, they had each, at one time or another, come back home, sometimes just for a night, other times for weeks at a time. But whenever they came home, they found their own room just as they had left it, as if they had never been away.

"Am gonna run ya a bath, an' then when yar feelin' a bit better, we'll set down an' have a little talk an' ya kin tell me all about it."

She tsked when she got no response and then left the room to run the bath. As she put in scented bath salts, her mind was running through what was held in the family's private arsenal and the list of people she needed to contact. She wasn't sure what exactly had happened to her baby girl, but she was damn well going to find out. The first step was to find Michael McBride and, if it turned out he was the cause of Fiona's present condition, she knew just the right spot to dump his body.

With the bath run, she tested the temperature before going to fetch her daughter. She helped her undress and forced back her tears at how thin her little girl had become. The deep scratches on her arms, neck and thighs looked raw and infected. She stored the sight in her memory. When they caught whoever had caused this, they would pay tenfold before they died.

Once she had Fiona settled in the bath, Maeve knelt down and washed her daughter's hair, treating her like a small child. It was while she was sponging away the dirt and blood that she heard the front door bang open and heavy footsteps on the stone tiled floor of the hall.

"Whar is she?" Hearing Sean's sharp angry tone, Maeve closed her eyes and prepared herself to try to manage her wild boys.

"She's upstairs wid ya mammy an' I tink they wan' ta be left alone fer now," Ryan replied.

"So wha' happened? Whar's McBride?"

The voices lowered and she couldn't make out the rest of the conversation. Turning her attention back to her unresponsive daughter, she sighed softly. She dreaded to think what tale Fiona would tell when she finally came to her senses.

"Fiona, love, let's get you dry an' inta bed." She coaxed her daughter out of the bath and handed her a towel. "C'mon, now, ya get yarsel' dry an' I'll plait yar hair ta keep it outta tha way. We'll putta towel o'er yar pillow ta stop it gettin' wet."

Combing out Fiona's long auburn hair, Maeve kept up a constant line of chatter trying to cover up the angry voices of her boys downstairs as they cross-examined Ryan about what had occurred in Fiona's Dublin flat.

"Thar ya go." Maeve smiled and handed Fiona a long cotton nightdress. "Let's get ya inta bed and it will all be better in tha morning." She pulled the curtains closed, blocking out the light from the room.

After tucking her daughter into bed and kissing her forehead, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She wiped a hand over her brow and listened to the raised voices coming from below. Colin had joined Sean and Ryan and the conversation was turning heated.

Both Sean and Ryan knew McBride far better than the rest of the family, yet neither man could explain why the love of Fiona's life had suddenly disappeared and left her in such a state. Had he left of his own accord? What did they really know about him?

She was on the first step down when the front door opened and closed again, followed by measured footsteps heading in the direction of all the loud voices. Then there was silence.

She paused and a wave of relief washed over her. Liam was home, her oldest boy, the head of the family. He would know what to do. He would make it right.

_**()()**_

_She had walked inside, out of the rain and the cold, revelling in the warmth of the flat as soon as she stepped through the door. He had put the electric heater on all three bars and the small square table that normally sat against the wall was now in the center of the room, covered with their one and only table cloth and laid out with a small vase of flowers and cutlery for two._

"_Dinner'll be ready in an hour."_

_He had glided over, carefully removing her coat and lifting her woollen hat off her head. His lips had touched the tip of her nose and then her lips in a tender kiss._

"_Ya need ta get warm. I ran a bath fer ya."_

_She had smiled up at him, lifting her arms to wrap them around his neck. "Wha's all this fer?"_

"_Nuttin', nuttin at all." He had smiled back and, before she could ask another question, he had enveloped her in his arms while his lips descended on to hers, taking her breath away in a deep passionate kiss._

_They had ended up in the small bathroom, along the way she had lost her green sweater and her bra, while his cream brush cotton shirt was unbuttoned and untucked. His hands had been everywhere, igniting a fire inside her core. His lips were on hers, before straying to her jaw, her neck and then lower still, suckling on her breasts while he stripped away her jeans before dropping to his knees in worship. The memory of his tongue working her into a frenzy while his hands cupped her ass, holding her still, making her legs go weak as her fingers curled in his hair –_

"No, no, no, yar not goin' ta do tha' to yarself, nae anymore," she moaned, flinging an arm over her eyes. "Never again, yar never gonna make a fool o' yarself o'er a man again."

An hour later and she was still awake, tossing and turning, afraid to surrender to the sleep. Because she knew as soon as she dropped her defenses, his face would appear before her and his voice, _McBride's voice_, would fill her mind.

_At some point on that first day she had rang the local hospitals. She had switched on the police scanner and listened for reports of accidents or the discovery of a male body. When she had finally unplugged the device, she was unsure whether to be happy or sad when nobody matching her lover's description had been injured or found dead._

"We have ta talk ta har. She's tha only one who knows wha' happened." That was Colin, his voice ringing out loud and clear over the top of all the others.

_Why was it that her brothers always had to talk as if they were at opposite ends of the house from each other rather than in the same room?_

Turning on to her side, Fiona pulled the bed covers over her head, trying to block out the sounds from below. _Why couldn't they just leave her alone in her misery?_

"She's nae said a word ta me. Wha' makes ya think she wan's ta talk ta any of yers?"

She pulled the covers tighter around her head and put her hands over her ears. They meant well. She knew deep down they all meant well, but she was at her most vulnerable and they were down there, probably sitting around the kitchen table dissecting her private life. _Private, huh? Tha' wa' a joke! When had she ever hadda private life?_

"_**Sit down!**_" their mother shouted, followed by the sound of something hard coming down on what Fiona guessed was the solid oak table. "We don' know wha's gone on 'tween 'em. Ah want ya ter get out thar an find McBride. Dig ham outta wha' ever hole he's hidin' in an bring ham back har."

_They wouldn't find him. He had been gone a week. He was too damn good to be caught. Why the hell did it still matter to her if Michael Westen was safe or not? He was the one that left. He deserved to be hurt... But not by them._

"Look, how abou' I go back ta tha flat an give it a goin' over an' see wha I kin find? I cannae believe tha bastid took everything."

Fiona shot up in the bed, her feet landing on the floor at her cousin's Ryan's suggestion. This was too much, to have them all poking through her things.

"Aye, an' talk tha neighbors. See wha they have ta say." Sean was warming to the subject. Even with a whole floor separating them, she could hear the eagerness in his voice.

_No! This wa' tha very end! Ryan O'Keefe and his little gang o' felons sticking thar noses inta every part o' har life and reportin' back all tha little details ta tha four men downstairs... Reportin' ta har MAMMY! No!_

She loved her brothers dearly, but this was a step too far. She had to put a stop to this now. Reaching out, she discovered a long dark green dressing gown laying at the end of her bed and, when she looked down, her sheepskin lined slippers lay near her feet.

Standing up, she took a moment to gain her equilibrium and then marched purposefully out of the door.

"Liam, d'ya nae have anythin' ta say? Yar've been mighty quiet abou' all this."

"Am waitin' ta har wha' Fiona has ta say; til then I plan on sittin' back an lettin' tha rest o' ya run round like a bunch o' headless chickens."

Gripping the stair rail tightly, Fiona came down the wide staircase. _Great, now me own brudder wan's ta interrogate me... Will he tek me ta tha freezer room he uses for his work an' – _

She stifled a hysterical laugh as a wave of real terrifying fear washed over her, nearly dropping her to her knees. The IRAs most feared interrogator wanted to hear what she had to say. Liam didn't know it but she had witnessed his method of getting information once before. _Would she end her days hanging from a meat hook, waiting to die from blood loss and shock, her entrails pooling around her feet as she pleaded for a swift death?_

The enormity of what she had done brought fresh tears to her eyes. If it _ever_ came out, it would break her mother's heart. She had helped a spy, a man sent to destroy everything her family stood for. If they found out – if it ever came out that she had bedded an American spy, would they protect her – or throw her to the wolves?

She froze. W_ould Liam hand her over? Even if he refused, would he be able to stop them from taking her? _Her whole body shook and she nearly lost her nerve. But then she turned to ice. Nothing could hurt her, not any more, _never again_.

"I thought he wa' comin' ta see ya?" She reached the kitchen door as Sean spoke.

"I dinnae see ham," came Liam's curt reply.

She flung the door open with a bang, just as Sean spoke again. "I thought-?"

"Well ya tort wrong, didn't ya?" Liam growled and Fiona found herself staring into her oldest brother's cold pale blue eyes. "Fiona, wha' are ya doin' up?" he asked, his voice softer than before as he raked his gaze over her, taking in the weight loss, the marks on her neck and the state of her knuckles.

She hid her hands in her pockets. She had no intention of explaining that she punched holes in the walls of her flat in an effort to re-direct the pain away from her heart.

"Thank ya fer yar concern, but I want ya all ta go," she started off quietly.

They stared back at her blankly, unmoving, taking in her appearance as she stood framed the doorway. Then, with a scrape of his chair, Sean rose to his feet and made to offer her his seat.

"Sit down, sis, an tell us wha' happened. Wha' kin we do ta help?"

"Wa' it McBride? War gonna find ham fer ya, Fi. We'll make ham pay fer wha' he's done ta ya." Colin was on his feet too, both men moving in her direction.

A muscle in her cheek twitched and her hands came out of her dressing gown pockets while her eyes flickered to the nearby shelf. Colin's hand curled around her bicep and, as he went to assist her across the room, she erupted.

Colin fell back from the punch that landed on his jaw and only just got his arm up in time to deflect the copper saucepan that was meant to finish him off.

"He's left me! He ran away in tha middle o' tha night wiv out even leaving me a note!" she screeched, hurling the pan across the room in the general direction of her family. "Are ya all happy now ya know? Nae, piss off, tha lot o' ya."

The men in the room all became quiet at the outburst. Maeve stepped cautiously in the direction of her daughter, but stopped when she saw the heavy marble rolling pin in her girl's hand.

"I wan' ya all ta leave me alone an' leave ham alone, too. It's none o' yar damn business! If I wan' ham hurt, I'll be tha one doin' it."

When nobody stepped up to challenge her, she threw the rolling pin onto the table where it bounced once and narrowly missed Liam's arm. Leaving the kitchen, she walked stiffly towards the stairs, trying to hide how much she was shaking. Her foot was on the first step when the silence was broken by her eldest sibling's gruff tone.

"Ryan, git over ta tha flat, see wha' ya kin find. Colin, get on tha computer o' yours. Tha' bio ya had on McBride, start diggin' inta it get wha' ya can on his past, his family, Thar tha rat might go ta hide. Sean, Ah wan' ya back in Belfast, spread some cash around – "

_I tol' 'em ta drop it._ Fiona closed her eyes, listening as her brothers continued to completely ignore her wishes.

"This's a waste o' time and ya know it. War pissin' in tha dark har. I know he wa' comin' ta see ya. He asked me ta talk ta ya. I thought – " Sean interrupted his older brother's orders.

"I told ya once, I never saw ham. Thar wa' no meetin'."

"Well, I war right then... Itsa waste o' time. He's gotta have a week on us... Ryan said tha flat had been locked down fer that long. We'll nae catch ham."

_No, ya won't. He's already outta tha country. I kin almost guarantee it._ Fiona walked up the stairs, ignoring the rest of the conversation taking place. _Wha' wa' tha point o' opening me mouth when they jus' go off an' do things thar way regardless o' wha' I want?_ _They would nae fine him. Sean wa' right. But at least while they searched, they would be outta me hair an' I kin git some peace._

Back in bed, she lay staring up at the high ceiling listening to the sounds of her departing older siblings. Let them chase all over Ireland for a ghost. He was gone for good and now because the way he had left, if he ever returned, they would kill him on sight.

Her eyes slid closed as exhaustion took hold. His face swam into view almost immediately just as she knew it would. She heard his voice, promising to keep her with him forever. Her whole body ached and yearned for the feeling of completeness which only came when he was inside her. They had been more than lovers; he was her other half; the only man she had let all the way into her closely guarded heart.

Lifting her head she took one of her pillows and wrapped her arms about it, turning onto her side and bringing her knees up so she lay in a fetal position, hugging the soft duck down pillow to her chest.

What had possessed her to let him take so much control over her life, to induce her into betraying her cause, to go against her family?

A shiver ran up her spine. He had made her dare to believe in a future where there was more than guns, bombs and endless fighting. He had suckered her into believing in a higher purpose.

"_I wuz wonderin' if ya would care ta dance?_

Nobody had ever been so brazen in their approach. She was after all Fiona Glenanne, hardcore IRA and the darling of the Glenanne clan. No one got near her without an introduction and having been thoroughly vetted by her brothers.

She had pressed the muzzle of her gun against his belly, willing and eager to shoot him for his impertinence. But instead of showing fear, he had smiled.

"_I tek thot as a yes."_

She could have sworn his eyes twinkled under the dim lights of the Black Sand Pub. When his hand gently laid over hers, she had felt a spark of electricity pass between them. She had actually let him disarm her and then lead her out on to the dance floor. He was fearless and with a sense of style utterly different from any other man she had met.

During her life time, she had witnessed her father dragged way never to return. She had heard the shots that killed her oldest brother and, later on, she had helped in the ambush of the soldiers who had been involved in the raid that had ended his life. On one dark terrible night, she had been raped by a loyalist terrorist and, years later, lost her only sister to a British soldier firing wildly into a crowd.

She had committed a long list of crimes, armed robberies, blown up cars and trucks, dealt in guns and heavy artillery and, on occasion, she had committed murder. In some instances, it had been to protect her family and in others as a sniper, following the orders of the ruling council of the IRA.

Yet this dark haired stranger had made her want more for herself. His touch both soothed her troubled soul and set her body a light with passion. He empowered her, trusting her with his life on more than one occasion. He let her into his world as a spy, taking her on missions, treating her as his equal. Yet he equally left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. He knew every detail of her past, while his own was a kept a closely guarded secret.

"_Wha' hadda I done tha' wa' so wrong?" _she sniffed, her body and mind losing the battle to stay awake. She would never get the answer to that particular question because she knew the chances of her ever finding Michael Westen were minute.

Sighing, she surrendered to the inevitable haunting memory of their last night together. _"How could he have been so cruel?" _That last night, he had made it so special... Why had he done that if not to torture her?

_His lips pressed against her core as his tongue lapped on her juices. Losing control, she stumbled backwards until her bottom hit the edge of the sink. He slowly rose up, kissing and licking his way up her body as his hands skimmed over her back, supporting her as the tremors of her orgasm slowly subsided._

"_Yar bath'll get cold." His voice was raspy and low, his eyes dark and intense._

_For a moment, all she could do was stare as he ran his tongue over his lips._

"_Join me." She had reached for the button fly on his jeans._

"_It'll be me pleasure, luv."_

_He stood still, letting her strip him of his clothes, moving his hands to her hair only when she dropped to her knees to return the favor he had so recently done for her. From her position kneeling on the cheap black and chequered linoleum flooring, she looked up, her eyes staring into his as she wet her lips and then licked a line up from the base to the tip of his swollen manhood, swirling her tongue over the tip. His long fingers tangled in her mane of hair and he growled softly as she slowly, inch by inch, took him into her mouth._

_Her hands stroked the backs of his legs, feeling his thigh muscles tense as she brought him nearer to the edge. She ignored the frantic tug on her hair and his strangled calls for her to stop, that he was about to cum. Then, at the very last moment, she rose up holding him close as he fought to keep control._

_She loved the power she held over him, the super cool spy with the ice cold logical brain, and she could reduce him to a quivering wreck._

"_Tha bath is getting' cold," she commented as he brought his breathing back under control._

"_We'd best get wet then."_

_He spun her around, making her shriek in surprise. Lifting her up with hands that easily spanned her waist, he carried her kicking and screaming in mock anger over to the old enamel bath tub. Then, in one easy move, he climbed in and dropped down, sending water cascading over the side to soak their clothes and the cheap linoleum floor._

"_Easy thar, luv. We need ta keep some o' the water in tha tub." He bit down on her ear, before gently nuzzling on her neck._

_Tilting her head to one side to give him better access, she leaned back against him as his hands kneaded her breasts, his fingers pinching and rubbing against her sensitive nipples. Raising her arms, she reached back, her fingers running through his soft short hair made curly by the humidity in the bathroom._

_One hand slid lower, down her torso over her belly to settle between her legs. As one finger slipped inside, she sighed softly, pressing her bottom against his erection. As he worked her into a frenzy with his hand, she did the same with the friction of her body grinding against his._

_After a few minutes, she was panting, her fingers clawing at his arm. Breaking free she turned over to face him, wedging her knees between his legs and the sides of the bath. Clinging onto him, she shifted as he positioned himself and entered her._

_Her hands skimmed over his shoulders, down his back and then over his chest. She loved the feel of him, hard muscle overlaid by smooth skin except for the scars. She adored every single little imperfection: the harsh pebble dashing from a shotgun blast, a shallow indentation of a knife point, and slight puckering of an old bullet wound. Each mark told a story, was a memory of a life lived to the full._

_In the small narrow bath, there was little room to move. They took their time, enjoying the sensation of togetherness. The feel of him sheathed inside her, moving infinitely slowly just enough to bring her to the peak and hold her there, his mouth on hers in endless kisses while he held her tightly in his arms._

She woke gasping for air, as the tears began to fall.

**Part two coming soon.**

**(Pun intended.)**


	4. Dublin part 2

**WHO WE ONCE WERE.**

**A/N: First of all thank you all for reviewing the first part of this chapter, and sorry for the delay on posting the second part, I have no excuses except for the annoying interference of RL. Also thanks go out to Jedi Skysinger for finding time in her busy life to Beta this chapter for me. **

_**Dublin, April 1999.**_

_**The aftermath.**_

Fiona eyes flickered open and she yawned. The comforting smells of her mother's home cooking wafted up the stairs from the kitchen below, enticing her to continue to wake rather than burrow down under the blankets and go back to sleep: _Bacon, sausages and eggs and, if she wasn't mistaken, there would be a pile of fried bread on the table, too._

Her stomach rumbled and clenched, reminding her it had been days since she had eaten anything, and her head throbbed in sympathy, making sure she didn't forget all the alcohol she had poured down her throat. Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she stared up at the high ceiling and groaned as all that had happened in the last week came flooding back to her. She had been a fool.

The creak of a loose floorboard warned her of somebody approaching her room and, by the time she heard a gentle knock on her door, she was already sitting up with her back up against the wooden headboard.

"Fiona, tis just me. It's time ta get up, darlin'. I've brought ya sommit ta eat." Maeve Glenanne walked into the room, her arms spread wide apart holding a massive tray piled up with food.

Maeve was only a little over five feet tall. Even in her sixties, her reddish brown hair remained free of any grey and her blue-green eyes still sparkled with a love of life. Handing her daughter the tray to put on her lap, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"This's too much." Fiona stared at the spread her mother had laid out for her. Sausage, several strips of bacon, a scrambled egg and two slices of fried bread filled one plate and on another there was a soft bread roll, with butter and jam, and a large mug of strong sweet tea and a glass of orange juice.

"Nonsense, yar fadin' away ta nuttin, girl, an' this'll help yar hangover." This was Maeve's answer to any problem: a good hearty breakfast, and strong Irish tea.

"Am nae hungover," Fiona denied her mother's accusation.

"Na? Well, ya soon will be. Ya stank like yer had drunk a brewery dry when Ryan brought ya har yesterday." She tutted with disapproval.

Fiona looked away, ashamed at the way she had let herself wallow in grief. Michael wasn't dead. He had run off like a rat and she didn't even know why. _Was it sommit she'd done? She couldn't think of anything that would have made him abandon her in such a cruel manner. He'd been furious with her over the armoured truck robbery, but that had been months ago and he hadn't complained about the night spent under the stars while they hid out from the army and UDF patrols trying to chase them down. Besides, hadn't he taken her to Amsterdam afterward_s? She smiled at the memory of their stay in the Dutch capital posing as diamond smugglers_. If it hadn't been fer me, he'd a ended up dead an' dumped in one o' tha canals._

"Fiona! Are ya listenin' ta me, girl?"

"Yes, sorry," she muttered, giving her mother a sideward glance before delicately picking up a piece of fried bread and nibbling at the crust.

"I wa' sayin', ya need ta eat up and then get yarself dressed. Am not havin' ya moonin' around tha house like some lovesick teenager. Ya need feeding up an' some fresh air in ya. Ah never understood why ya had ta live in tha dump o' er flat."

Fiona bit down hard on the bread to stop the retort which had come to mind. What she wanted to say was that she had lived in that so-called dump of a flat because it was in a neighborhood where she was her own woman, far away from interference from her family. Yes, she could have afforded better and she was pretty sure that Michael could have requested some CIA/MI6 funded home for the pair of them. But that run-down neighbourhood had given them some privacy and kept them safe.

Instead she forced down the crust and muttered. "We liked it."

Maeve pushed herself upright, her blue green eyes sparking with disapproval. "Aye, I've noticed ya like a lot o' tings tha' are no good fer ya." She stroked her hand over Fiona's cheek. "But yar home now. Finish up an' then come down an' I'll find ya sommit ta do."

Knowing what was expected of her, Fiona slowly picked her way through the meal, eating a little of everything. To do anything less would bring about a long lecture about how she was not capable of looking after herself.

Feeling full and with her alcohol related headache reduced to a dull throb, Fiona moved the tray to the top of her dresser and opened the wardrobe she had inherited from her Great Grandma Glenanne. Staring at the contents, she felt tears well up in her eyes. During her time with Michael McBride, she had pushed the memories of her old life to the back of her mind.

The beautiful, exquisite articles of clothing filling the wardrobe were a stark reminder of her life before the death of her sister Claire which had sent her back into the embrace of the Provisional Irish Republican Army. They were all that remained of a time when she had cut a bloody path through most of Europe and the Middle East on the arm of international arms dealer Armand Andreani.

It was the tall, dark and mysterious French aristocrat who had introduced her to a wonderful world filled with beautiful things. He had showered her with gifts of designer clothing, expensive jewellery, and exotic weaponry. Then later on, after he had won her heart, he had set about showing her the world. They stayed in only the very best hotels and ate at the finest restaurants, living and dining with the criminal elite on three continents.

For three years, she'd had the world at her feet and then, early one morning in a small Bosnian village, she'd thrown it all away. There, as Armand's representative, she had seen the full horror wrought by the weapons she had helped supply.

It had taken the sight of the bloody massacre of a whole village committed by men with guns supplied by Armand to sever their relationship. Sickened by the evil surrounding her, she had completed the deal because to do anything else would have resulted in her own death and had immediately excused herself with the tale of a family emergency. Only once she was back in the safety of her mother's home had she informed Armand that she wouldn't be coming back to him.

Looking at the five year out of date clothing, she sighed. Maybe she should take some time to visit some of Dublin's designer showrooms and buy some more up to date items. She had money and no reason now not to raise her profile. Maybe it was time to remove all remnants of Michael McBride.

Reaching inside, she pulled out soft cotton cargo pants that she had bought in Paris, which at the time had cost over five hundred francs, and a black cashmere sweater that had come from Milan. Once she was washed and dressed, she unbraided her hair and stared at the frizzy mop which surrounded her face. She was going to have to wash it again to get it under control. For now, she gathered it up and twisted it into an untidy bun before picking up the tray and going downstairs.

Walking into the kitchen, she came to a stop when she saw Liam sitting hunched over the kitchen table, wolfing down a full Irish breakfast while being doted upon by their mother.

"Ah, Fiona, come an' have a cuppa wiv ya brudder while I go an' dig out a pair o' boots," Maeve spoke brightly, her hand tenderly combing through Liam's shock of greying sandy colored hair on her way past.

Fiona blinked slowly. "Boots?"

"Ta walk tha dogs. A dose of fresh air will do ya tha world o' good an' the dogs need ta go out," Maeve replied as if talking to a child.

"I have got plenty o' boots up in me room."

"I won't have ya spoiling yar fancy footwear crossin' muddy fields. I swear I saw Roseanne's walking boots in tha utility room las' week. Let me take another look."

Roseanne was Sean's wife and the mother to his two children. English Irish, he had met her three years earlier when he'd spent a summer in London. Everybody had been surprised when he returned home with his 'foreign' bride, especially as he hadn't told any of the family about her until they arrived at the Belfast docks. But Roseanne had fit in immediately, endearing herself to the family matriarch when Sean had announced his bride of two months was already pregnant.

"Really, Ma, I can-"

Liam interrupted, banging his knife and fork down onto the now empty plate. "Thank ye, Mam." He pushed the plate in Fiona's direction. "While ya find tha boots, Fi kin do tha washin' up fer ya."

Pale blue-grey eyes locked with blue-green in a battle of wills, until blue-green backed down and grudgingly picked up the plate and walked over to the sink, dropping it into the foamy water with a splash.

Maeve watched the interplay between her eldest and youngest children. Fiona was the only one left of her babies who had the courage to test Liam's patience. It was his only weakness as far as she could tell. Liam had taken over as head of the family when he was barely twenty six years old. He had abandoned his training as a doctor and taken up the reins of the family business with a grim determination. Her quiet, studious boy had pulled the family together in their grief and had then set about surprising the hell out of anybody who thought the Glenanne clan were a spent force.

He ruled over his brothers with a rod of iron. Sometimes she thought he was too hard on them, growling out his orders with barely a word of explanation. The girls though had usually gotten their own way in the end. Claire, God rest her soul, used to get it by being sweet and kind, charming Liam into seeing things her way, while Fiona stood up to him, amusing him with her courage or pure pig-headedness. He had even allowed her relationship with Michael McBride to develop, though they had lived together without so much as an engagement ring on her finger.

Finally, she found what she was looking for and walked back into the kitchen with a pair of brown leather laced boots in one hand and her own waterproof jacket in the other.

"Here's yar boots an' ya can borrow me coat. I'll put 'em by tha radiator t'warm 'em."

"Thank ya, mammy." Fiona wiped her hands dry on a towel and smiled sweetly. "I'll go now."

"Ya not havin' another cuppa?" Maeve asked, feeling like she had missed something. Her baby girl didn't do sweet.

"No, I should go now." Fiona walked over to take the boots and coat from Maeve's hands. "Befer I say sommit I shouldn't." She flashed an angry glare at her older brother's back.

Sitting on the doorstep of the utility room, Fiona laced up the leather ankle high boots and grabbed up the three rope dog leads hanging on a hook next to the door.

"Fiona, I will be talkin' ta ya when ya get back," Liam called out.

Stepping out into the cool spring morning, she slammed the door loudly behind her.

The family guard dogs were pacing in their runs waiting for their morning exercise and, as soon as they spotted somebody leaving the house, they set up a loud, almost deafening cacophony of barks and yelps as they jumped up at the mesh fence of their accommodation.

"_SHUT UP, THA LOTTA YA!_" she bellowed loudly and instantly all three dogs quietened and sat.

Apart from the occasional whine and moving of their front feet, all three waited while Fiona attached the leads to their collars.

"Come," she ordered and set off at a brisk walk out of the courtyard and onto the winding lane at the front of the house.

Five minutes later , she was off the road and onto open farm land. Removing the leads, she sent the dogs away so they could stretch their legs while she walked along a wide, mud covered track which bisected the fields that in a few months' time would be covered by long grass waiting to be cut for hay.

With her head down, she trudged along the path trying to avoid slipping over on the slick surface, only looking up to keep a check on what her mother's three large, long haired Belgium shepherds were getting up to. She needn't have worried; the dogs were well trained and stayed in sight, frequently coming back to her side of their own accord as if they were keeping a check on her.

Leaving the hay field, she came to another field, this one surrounded by sturdy stone walls. Leaning against the wooden gate which marked the entrance, she stared at the occupants with open admiration: four mares each one with a foal at foot. She wasn't an animal person, she would never harm one; however, unlike some people, she didn't see the need to have an animal in her life. But, along with a love for designer clothing and hi-spec military hardware, Armand had encouraged her to take an interest in the glamorous worlds of horse racing and polo. She had forgotten how many deals she had attended with military dictators or international terror groups during elite sporting events.

Suddenly, for no reason that she could see, the mares took off across the field at a gallop, their foals keeping up easily on their long spindly legs. Back and forth the animals raced with their tails waving like flags in a breeze until they finally came to a stop near where she stood. They eyed her and the dogs, which were watching with rapt attention, their nostrils wide as they snorted in excitement.

Then, just as suddenly as they had set off galloping, they now dropped their heads and began to graze while the foals moved closer to their dams to get their own nourishment. One of the mares lifted her head to nuzzle her baby's back as it drank. The sight caused Fiona to sniff and turn away. She would never have a baby, never have a child to … How could she? Michael was gone and she didn't want anybody else. She was determined never to cause herself so much heartache again.

Tearing herself away from watching the horses, she continued on her way around the edge of the stone wall towards a small copse of trees which would lead her back onto the road and back to the mother's home.

Burying her hands into the pockets of her coat, she whistled loudly to call the dogs to follow her and made her way in between the trees and out the other side. There, on the edge of the tree-line, she stopped and let out a vicious curse.

She had forgotten where this trail would lead her. Last time she had covered this ground, she hadn't been alone and it had been in the pitch black. They had walked from the house along the lane using flash lights to guide their steps.

There, down a narrow, overgrown track in a small hollow, was an old wooden hay barn. Now it was nearly empty, most of the bales already gone to feed the farmers livestock over winter. But four months earlier on Christmas night, it had made a cozy, warm shelter from the cold night air. For some reason, she was unable to tear her eyes away from that ramshackle, broken down building.

It had been Christmas… The last time they had visited her mother together had been last Christmas at the annual gathering of the whole family. Of course, when she had first brought it up, Michael had tried to get out of attending.

"_Christmas – families," he'd pulled a face and then turned away. "They're just not my thing... Bad memories."_

But in the end she had worn him down and had convinced him to go with her and she had been so happy that night.

"_Happy Christmas, sweetheart, now whar's thot man o' yars?" had been the first words out of her mother's mouth when they had arrived at the house._

"_He's getting' tha presents outta tha car," she'd replied, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. Her mother's greeting had been a sure sign that Michael was accepted as a member of the family._

_Then, later in the day, after the Christmas dinner had been eaten and the table cleared away, she had walked past the back door where Sean, and Liam had been standing, watching an impromptu football match taking place in the courtyard._

"_I tell ya, Liam, McBride is head o'er heels in love. Ya heard how he pulled har outta tha' ambush. Ya need ta give tha man a chance."_

"_Aye," her eldest brother had answered. "Mebbe I will."_

_First her mother's words of welcome, then Sean's words of support and lastly Liam's grudging approval…as far as she had been concerned the day had been a success._

_Late in the evening with the party in full swing, Michael had used all his spy skills to sneak through the kitchen and extract their jackets from under the eyes of half her family. In need of a little privacy, they had disappeared into the night, walking side by side along the unlit lane with only a single flash light to show them the way._

_He'd wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her tight against his side, while her arm had settled about his waist, her hand tucked into the back pocket of his black dress pants._

"_Are ya sure ya don't mind? I hadda ta get away... Too many bad memories o' home." She'd felt a tremor run up his back as he explained why he had wanted to get out of a house full of Glenannes and their relatives._

"_They all like ya, Michael," she'd reassured him, leaning in closer. "I heard Sean talkin' ta Liam an' they both said yar a good man."_

_He'd looked down at her then, and even in the dark she could make out his look of disbelief. "Your brother Liam spent the whole meal staring at me as if he'd a been happier craving me up wid tha' big knife o' his than serving tha turkey."_

_She'd laughed and reached up to place a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth. "He looks at everybody like thot. It dinnae mean anything. If he did nae like ya, ya would nae been invited."_

They'd passed by the small copse of trees where she stood now and the flash light had picked up the outline of the old barn.

"_Let's not talk about your brothers," he'd suggested, edging them off the lane. "In fact, let's not talk at all."_

_She'd yelped as he'd suddenly picked her up to carry her over the long grass and mud, while she shone the light on the barely visible path._

_The barn had been filled with bales of hay nearly up to the rafters, but it had taken him less than two minutes to find an old wooden ladder laying in the long grass, and before long they were twenty feet up in the air snuggled down surrounded by sweet smelling hay._

_As soon as he had cleared a spot for them, he'd helped her up the ladder and pulled her down onto his lap and into a tight embrace. His lips had trailed hot fervent kisses along her hairline, eventually reaching her lips as his mouth closed over hers. He had deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking against her teeth and gums until she sighed and opened her mouth to him._

_For a long time, they'd just kissed and held each other, their bodies entwined and gaining warmth from their closeness. But soon it wasn't enough. They both needed the feel of bare skin under their fingertips. Jackets were discarded and then, as time went by, a white dress shirt and an expensive silk top ended up thrown onto the hay bales that Michael had turned into the walls of their den._

Fiona let out a soft moan as she remembered _the way his teeth had dragged over one nipple and then the other, his hands skimming over her exposed flesh, touching so lightly it was like torture._

_They had taken their time that night, safely out of sight in their own little nest. _She remembered_ the sensation of his fingers sliding inside her, awaking another deeper level of ecstasy. She'd whimpered into his neck, urging him to go faster. But instead he had slowed; his touch had become even softer and more languid, teasing her into a frenzy._

_When he had eventually covered her body with his, he had stared into her eyes with such intensity that she had been sure she had seen real love burning in his gaze. Her arms had snaked up, her fingers on his back reaching lower, urging him to enter her._

She could remember_ the feeling of the tip of his manhood touching her, driving her wild with want and the look of satisfaction on his face as he had taken his own sweet time. Very, very slowly, he had filled her up until they had become one._

_He'd kept his weight off her, using his elbows as his fingers combed through her hair. Then as his mouth claimed hers in a deep sensual kiss, he began to move, long and slow thrusts designed to drive her wild._

_Only as she reached the peak of her pleasure did he begin to speed up, slamming into her with force as he followed her over the edge, clinging together as their bodies recovered._

She stood staring at the barn, her breath quickening at the memory of the night they had spent an hour away from the party taking place back at her mother's house, until one of the dogs barked loudly and bumped against her leg.

"Huh?" She jumped as she was brought back to the present by a wet nose nuzzling at her hand. With a final, wistful smile, she turned away from the view of the barn.

"I need ta get away fram har," she muttered, "Am not gonna get rid o' ham when he's everywhere around me." Reaching for the dog at her side, she clipped the lead to his collar and then called the other two to her side as well.

_**()**_

With the dogs returned to their kennels, Fiona crossed over the cobblestone yard which separated the outbuildings from the house, making her way towards the back door which would lead her in to the utility room.

"Fiona!" Liam stood leaning against the high stone wall which surrounded the yard.

"Don't ya have some place ta be?" she asked turning to face her oldest brother.

"Am right whar I need ta be... I came ta tell ya, I've hadda quiet word wid yar landlord, an' cancelled tha lease on yar flat. Ryan is clearin' out tha place fer ya, so ya don't have ta go back thar."

"Ye've done wha?" Her voice went up several octaves and she closed the rest of the distance to stand directly in front of him.

"Ya don't need it anymore," he told her patiently. "Ya'll be stayin' har wid our Mammy, till yer over yar loss and – fram thar, – we'll see."

She was completely incensed. H_ow could he do this_? "I'm not a child, Liam! Ya cannae tell me wha'-" She got into his face, standing on her toes, her fists bunched in his shirt.

In that moment, she had forgotten who she was dealing with. Nobody laid hands on Liam Glenanne, not since he was twenty six years old and had taken over the position as head of the family. Her wrists were suddenly caught in a powerful vice like grip, the pain forcing her fingers to release the front of his shirt and then he spun her around until her back crashed into the stone wall.

Releasing her, he pointed a rigid finger into her face, his eyes filled with rage. "Ya'll do as yer tol', girl," he snarled, then as he took back control, he stepped away from her and dropped his hands to his side. "Don't make me raise me voice ta ya again... Yer stayin' har 'til I say different."

Abruptly he turned to leave, clearly thinking he had made his point. But Fiona's temper was up and _she_ still wasn't thinking clearly.

"Whar tha hell d'ya get off thinkin' ya can dictate whar I live and who I see... Ya might get away wid bossin' -" as she yelled, her tightly made fists hit him with a flurry of heavy blows squarely between the shoulder blades

Liam spun around fast this time. He made no effort to catch hold of her hands. Instead, his arm swung and landed a resounding slap to her cheek, causing her knees to buckle. She would have fallen, but he took hold of her arm, keeping her on her feet.

"Ya can't keep me har!" she sobbed.

He waited while she regained her feet, all the time his blue-grey eyes bored into her while his fingers dug into her arm. Then, all of a sudden, he released her. Dropping his gaze, he raked his fingers through his hair and took several deep breaths before turning back to her.

"I wa' hopin' ta save ya fram this," he began slowly, "but I can see ya ain't gonna stop... So here it is. Yer stayin' har cos it's tha only place I can keep ya safe... I'm sorry Fiona, luv, yar man is a Yank spy workin' some joint mission wid MI6... He wa' jus' usin' ya, sweetheart."

Fiona felt her whole world fall away. _Liam knew_… Fear engulfed her heart.. "Wha' did ya do?" she asked in barely more than a whisper. Then louder, as panic set in. "Wha' did ya do, Liam?"

"Nuttin', I did nuttin' to ham... But he's left ya in tha shit now.. Ya know wha' people will say? Wha' they'll do ta ya?"

He took hold of her. Gripping her shoulders, he shook her so hard that her teeth rattled and her head smacked hard against the wall. "If it ever comes out, yer dead, ya know thot?"

The two siblings faced each other, both breathing heavily, the desperation in her brother's tone chilling her to her bones.

"Would ya let 'em?" she asked in a small voice. "Would ya let 'em take me, Liam?"

He let go of her and stepped away, pacing before her like a caged animal. "Jaysus, girl, is dat wha' ya tink?" He shook his head and then became still. His eyes seemed to darken and his expression turned deadly serious. "I'd kill 'em all, I'd burn down the whole feckin' organization."

A shiver ran down Fiona's spine at Liam's words. She knew he meant every word; he'd start a bloody civil war to keep her safe. Her lip trembled as she fully realized the consequences of what she had done.

"An tha's why yer stayin' har." He cupped her chin, tilting it upwards so she was looking straight at him. "I can't keep ya safe if yer runnin' round lookin' fer ham... Thar's rumors spreadin' and other people have been lookin' inta McBride. I'm tryin' ta put a stop to it... Dis could be tha end o' us, Fiona. Tha council... if they had enough evidence, tha'd wan' yer head. It would be public. Tha'd make an example o' ya... D'ya tink we'd stand fer thot?"

The true horror hit her hard and she broke free and sank down the wall until she was on the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Ya stay har. Ya let me deal wid it all..."

"Who knows?" she asked. She couldn't bear the thought that her mother knew.

"Nobody, jus' me an' now you... Nobody else is gonna find out a ting." He pulled her back to her feet. "So yer gonna wipe yar face and act like yar boyfriend left ya. Tha' way our ol' mum never finds out how ya war tricked into bringing a bastid spy into tha house."

She nodded and gulped, wiping away the tears.

"Go fer a walk round tha garden while ya settle yar nerves. Then stop actin' tha fool an' stay put til I say otherwise."

Not trusting herself to speak, she just nodded again and took a step away when he touched her gently on the arm. "Fiona, I didnae wan' ta tell ya. I war hopin' if I kept me eye on ham, I could stop him doin' any harm an' I tort wid tha way he wa' wid ya, mebbe he'd come round ta our way o' tinking... But, I cannae let ya throw yar life away on tha bastid."

She screwed up her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried to sort out the jumble of emotions racing through her brain. That _Liam had known_ was a massive shock. Liam not doing anything to stop her from dating an American spy was hard to believe.

"Swear ya didnae hurt ham," she demanded. "Thot ya ran ham off, back ta Kilkenny or Belfast or whar'ever ya sent ham..."

She could see the disappointment written on Liam's face; her fear for Michael's life was giving her away.

"I didnae hurt ham and whar ever he is now is nuttin' ta do wid me."

She stared into her brother's eyes trying to read the truth of his words in his eyes.

"We'll _never_ talk o' this again," she told him firmly and thankfully he nodded solemnly in agreement and slowly walked away.

Fiona watched Liam disappear around the corner of the house and listened as she heard a car door slam and the engine spring to life. Sucking in a ragged breath, she fought down the urge to scream. When she had invited Michael Westen into her life, she had never imagined that it would end like this.

With a finally sniff and angry swipe at her tear-filled eyes, she opened the door to the utility room and slipped inside. Removing the mud-caked boots, she left them to dry near the radiator and hung the coat up on one of the many hooks in the wall.

Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and took back control over her heart. Her mother was never, ever, going to find out what she had done. She was going pull herself together and lie through her teeth to keep Maeve Glenanne safe and happy.

Opening her eyes, she set off through the door which led into the large kitchen and instantly stopped, frozen in place. She could hear her heart thudding in her chest and her head reeled, making her feel faint at, the sight which greeted her.

The kitchen table was covered by a thick plastic sheet and there on top were three 12 bore double barrelled shotguns, a Smith and Wesson .38 calibre revolver and a dismantled AK47 assault rifle.

"Mammy?"

Maeve looked up and smiled as she expertly began to reassemble the AK.

"Ya got sommit planned, Ma?" Fiona stepped further into the room.

"It's Wednesday," the older woman replied crisply. "I always clean tha guns on a Wednesday," she answered, snapping the last part into place and raising the weapon to look along the barrel. "Why don'tcha make us a cuppa tea while I put dis lot away?"

Fiona nodded and went to the kettle. After filling it up with water, she plugged in the lead and switched it on before emptying the tea pot and dropping in fresh tea leaves.

"So wha' did Liam have ta say tha's gotcha all in a tizzy?" Maeve called out from where she was storing the weapons in a cupboard under the stairs.

Fiona took her time filling the teapot with boiling water and laying out two of her mother's fine bone china cups on their matching saucers.

"He told me he'd ended me lease on me flat."

"Aye, it's fer tha best. Yar better off here wid yar family... at least fer a while." Maeve waited for Fiona to finish making the tea and then held the door open for her daughter to carry the cups through into the living room.

Once sat down in her high back chair next to the fire, Maeve took her cup of tea and placed it on the small round topped oak table beside her chair. She looked up at her sad-eyed, youngest child and sighed softly.

"Come har, child, an' let me brush yar hair." She patted her knee, signalling for her daughter to sit at her feet.

"Am not ten years old anymore, Ma."

"I know thot, but can't ya jus pretend fer an old lady and let me brush out yar hair? Remember how I used ta do thot fer you an' Claire... I miss havin' me little girls around me."

Sighing, Fiona put her cup down on the fireplace and sank down on to the thick woollen carpet. Pulling out the pins that had kept her frizzy mop of hair out of the way, she waited patiently for the drag of her mother's hairbrush. Closing her eyes, she felt Maeve's fingers carefully work through the tangles before commencing to brush a shine into her daughter's brown gold hair.

The familiarity of her mother's touch brought fresh tears to Fiona's eyes as the image of the mare nuzzling her foal's back as it drank came to her and she fought back the misery she felt. She would never have a moment like this; she would never sit and brush out her own daughter's hair.

Sinking down further, she rested her head on her mother's knee and tried to let all that had happened, and what may yet happen slip away.

"Ya know, I never planned this life fer ya." Fiona opened her eyes at her mother's words. "But things happen an' ya end up havin' ta play the hand yer dealt. Your Daddy started off wantin' ta be a priest, he wa' -"

"I know tha stories, Ma."

"Aye, but will ya listen ta an old woman?"

"Fine."

"Yar Daddy wa' tha most handsome man I ever saw. I decided he wa' tha one fer me when I wa' fifteen years old. He o' course never gave me a look. He wa' too wrapped up in his Bible. He wa' gonna become a priest." She laughed out loud at the thought. "Aye, kin ya believe tha?"

Fiona nodded her head, she had heard the tale of how they met and the great love they had shared. It was what she had wanted for herself. Her father had turned away from the priesthood for her mother, had turned away from serving God. Yet Michael wouldn't even turn away from serving his country for her.

"It took me two years ta get thot stubborn man's attention. Oh, but once I got it," she sighed. "He left tha seminary an' went fram studying tha bible ta be larnin' to be a chemist. All we ever wanted war a little shop, with a flat above an' ta raise lotsa fat children. But things change an' thar's not a damn thing ya kin do about it. I wa' pregnant wid Pat when yar Uncle Milo wa' killed. Tha poor boy wa' jus' on a night out in Derry. It twas a rubber bullet tha' did it."

She gave a short humorless laugh. "Aye, a rubber bullet, it hit him in da throat and tha wa' tha end o' him." She raised a hand to her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "Yar Daddy wa' furious, oh such a fury in tha man. Well, ya know tha' fer yoursel' don'tcha? Ya have yar Daddy's temper. Ya all do, all except for our dear angel up in heaven."

Fiona remained with her head on her mother's knee. She knew the story inside and out, and back and forth, just like she knew all the family stories. Listening to her mother talk soothed her, calmed her bruised and battered soul. She was home, safe and sound.

"Oh, he wa' for tha Cause and dey loved ham. A chemist, an educated man, and oh most o' all they loved tha bombs he could make. I hoped when ya babbies came along, it would cool da fire in ham. An' ya know fer a while it did. He worked at Shaunessy's pharmacy fer a while." Maeve's dreamy expression pulled down into a frown.

"But dey wouldnae leave him alone, not tha Brits or tha IRA. Ya warn't even a glint in yer daddy's eye when they came an' took him off ta the Maze. Ten soldiers it took, an they gave him a such a beating. First time, they held him fer trey weeks, tha second time fer a month." She smiled to herself then, stroking her long fingers through her daughter's hair.

"Can ya remember tha time thot they took him an' Pat, God rest his soul, away an' you bit thot damn constable's ankle? Oh my, how I laughed. I had ta pull ya off him and you had yar arms wrapped around his leg an yar little teeth buried in deep."

Fiona smiled, but she didn't want to. It hurt so much it tore her apart that she could smile when her heart was breaking.

"Yar daddy did wha' he thought wa' right an' tha's wha' Liam is doin' now. Ya know thot, girl, dontcha? He loves ya, an' wants ta protect ya."

"He wants ta control me. Am a woman, Am nearly thirty years old an' I'm still being ordered about by tha lot o' ya. At least wid Mi-"

"Oh, he gave ya yer independence d'he girl? Left ya on yar own good an' proper. Is tha want ya want? Fer us all ta leave ya alone?"

"No, no, I want-" She shook her head and got to her feet. "I don't know wha' I want and tha's tha problem."

Back in her room, she lay on her bed with an arm flung over her eyes. She felt like she was being suffocated. _How could Michael have left her with all this to deal with? He had to have known there would be fall out when he left. Why hadn't he at least warned her he was going to abandon her to her fate?_

She wasn't the same person any more. She wasn't even sure if she could become the dutiful daughter again. Her whole being protested at the thought of having to return to following her brother's orders and having them all watch over her as if she was too fragile to be left unguarded.

She knew they did it out of love, but it didn't change the fact she had grown. Armand had started the process of change, opening her eyes to the world far more than her university education had ever done, and Michael had shown her that a gun or a bomb wasn't always the right answer to a problem. Both men had encouraged her to think for herself and had valued her for her quick mind and tactical expertise. And neither had expected her to just be a trophy on their arm.

It came to her then; she didn't want to go back to having her life mapped out by what her eldest brother thought was best for her. She sat up, a look of determination on her face. She needed a plan. She needed to be able to confront Liam and tell him what she was going to do and make it something he couldn't say no to.

She needed something that allowed her to get away from Ireland, at least for a little while. But it had to be somewhere Liam at least approved of and it had to be where she would have the space to sort out her messed up life on her own.

Hours later, still with no plan, she took a pause from her pacing when she heard the phone ring downstairs. She could hear her mother talking to somebody, but couldn't make out the words. Then, just as she was going to turn back to her thoughts…

"Fiona, thar's a call fer ya!"

_It had to be word on Michael... Had they found him? _She blinked away the thought, praying that wasn't the news she was about to hear.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she noted the happy smile on her mother's face. Before Maeve handed her daughter the phone, she couldn't help passing on the news.

"It's thot nice Armand Andreani. He's just spoken ta Seamus and he wants ta come callin'... I've invited ham ta dinner."

Fiona's breath caught in her throat. Out of the blue, she had the solution to her problem. _Her family had done business with him, had trusted him. Armand had the resources to get her out of Ireland. They had worked together before. Liam could hardly object to her working for or with him again. _

The only question left was whether protecting her heart and winning her independence was worth the price of her soul.


	5. Belfast November '98

**WHO WE ONCE WERE.**

**A/N: A big thanks to everybody who has reviewed these short stories and Dodging Raindrops which has inspired this series. I know many of you are eager for the bathroom scene which was hinted at in the main story, however I didn't want to write what would effectively be a plotless piece. So before our heroes reach the house with the luxury bathroom, they have to stop fighting and making up long enough to complete their mission.**

**A special thanks to Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger for reading through this chapter for me. You ladies along with DaisyDay bring sunshine into these cold winter days. Also thank you Jedi Skysinger for fitting in a Beta during your busy days.**

**x**

**Belfast November 1998.**

_**Part one.**_

_A Brief History Lesson:_

During October 1997, at a Provisional IRA General Army Convention, several members of the executive council denounced the leadership's decision to call for a ceasefire and their participation in the Northern Ireland peace process.

Shortly afterwards, several members of the executive council resigned and, along with other disaffected members of the Provisional IRA, set up a new organization. This new group had the ultimate aim of a united Ireland, but they had no wish to talk or make deals with the British government. Instead they planned on using physical force in much the same way as the Provisional IRA had done during the nineteen eighties and early-mid nineties.

Throughout the early part of 1998, this new violent organization planted bombs in city centers, land mines on roads used by the security forces, and fired mortars into police stations and Army barracks.

The term Real IRA came about when members staged an illegal roadblock. When asked who they were, they replied "We're the _real _IRA."

However their high profile actions had the effect of attracting a lot of attention and by mid-1998 many of their leadership had already been arrested or killed.

Their most infamous action occurred on the 15th August 1998 in Omagh, County Tyrone, when they planted a five hundred pound home-made bomb which killed 29 people and injured a further 220.

The bombing caused a major outcry throughout the world and the Irish and British governments introduced new legislation in an attempt to destroy the organization. RIRA also came under intense pressure from the Provisional IRA. Eventually, the remaining members of the RIRA called a ceasefire on 8 September 1998.

Initially unknown to the British and Irish governments and the Provisional IRA, the RIRA used the ceasefire to begin regrouping.

_**Playing in the Devil's Backyard.**_

_Prologue._

"Ya need me thar ta watch yar back." Fiona stood with her arms crossed over her chest leaning against the bathroom door while Michael stood in front of the sink rinsing his toothbrush under the tap.

"We've talked about this," he began patiently. "It's too dangerous. If you're -"

Fiona snorted. "I've been dodging British Army patrols since I wa' fifteen year old. Ya don' have ta tell _me_ about dangerous."

"You know what I mean. We need to play this by the book for right now. I can't keep bailing you-"

Her eyes went wide. "So who asked ya ta come rushin' ta me aid like some bloody white knight a few weeks ago? I wa' doing fine before ya-"

"Fiona," Michael sighed and looked down at the chipped enamel sink as if praying for the strength to deal with stubborn women.

They had been having the same discussion for the last hour and she couldn't, or more likely wouldn't, accept that he had an important job to do and that he couldn't do it worrying about what would happen if his new MI6 handler caught her shadowing him.

"How is me waiting close by while ya meet up wid tha' slimy English bastid any worse than ya nearly getting' yerself killed takin' on an army helicopter an' half Antrim's constabulary?" she pressed him to answer.

Straightening up, Michael placed his toothbrush back in the glass on the shelf in front of him and then slowly turned to face her.

"First of all, if I hadn't come -" He closed his mouth, realizing that she was trying to draw him into an even bigger argument. Taking a deep breath, he pushed down his growing anger. "It's my job and that English ba- he's my boss, Fi... For _now_ he _is_ my boss and -" He stopped when she raised a hand in a chopping motion.

"An' ya can't be seen draggin' yar Provo –" She paused and frowned. "Wha' war it I heard ya call me? Yar Provo_ asset _inta yar secret meetings_._"

Michael took two hesitant steps towards the door, stopping inches away from her when she continued to block his exit. Pursing his lips, he looked into her blue-green eyes while tentatively reaching out to run his hands lightly up and down her arms.

"Fi. Fiona," he pleaded softly. He didn't need an argument just before what had sounded like an urgent call to meet up with his handler in Belfast. "It's just a boring meeting."

She huffed and abruptly moved away. Turning her back on him, she stalked through to the kitchen. He raised his eyes to the ceiling in despair and then winced when he heard cupboard doors being slammed.

Sighing, he went after her. His biggest fear was that she would follow him to Belfast and give somebody in MI6 one more reason to think it would be better for all concerned if Fiona Glenanne was locked in a prison cell. He was still holding out hope that given a bit longer he could convince his CIA handler Dan Siebels that Fiona's wide ranging skill set would make her a valuable asset for the Agency.

He found her furiously searching through the kitchen cabinets and drawers. "Fiona?"

She glanced in his direction, but continued banging doors. "Fiona! I'm going. I'll be back, but it might be late... I'll call." He hated the idea leaving her like this, but he had a job to do.

"Found it!" she announced triumphantly lifting a large stainless steel meat cleaver.

Michael paled and took a step back. "Whatcha got planned, Fi?"

She smiled wickedly. "Bernadette has gotta whole lamb in har freezer. She sold me a leg and a coupla steaks. Am going round ta get em, an I'm gonna pretend it's tha'MI6 bastid yer so fond of."

Gulping, Michael nodded and quickly picked up his coat and his keys. Taking her anger out on a piece of meat was far better than a lot of other things he could imagine her getting into while he was gone. Moving fast, he pressed a kiss on her cheek while warily keeping an eye on the cleaver and then he was gone, dashing along the balcony and down the concrete steps to the car park below.

He gave himself a full five hours to make sure nobody was following him before going to meet up with his present MI6 handler. He had deliberately left the little one bedroom flat he called home at eight A.M so he could make the journey north to Belfast during the chaos of the morning rush hour.

Ever since his previous MI6 contact had mysteriously disappeared a few months earlier, he had been on edge and taking some extra time checking for surveillance seemed to be a sensible precaution. So for an hour and a half, he drove around Dublin like an idiot, shamelessly committing every sin of the road to try to see if anybody was following him. He would indicate right and then cut across traffic to turn left, drive too slow and then suddenly speed up and go all the way around roundabouts sometimes as many as three times as if he was lost. Only when he was sure nobody was tailing him did he leave Dublin and head north to cross over the border into Northern Ireland.

Once he reached the outskirts of Belfast, he pulled off the main road and found a small shopping mall where he left the car and continued into the city center on the bus. After spending another hour wandering around a few of the large department stores, he made his way to the meeting at the Fitzwilliam Hotel.

Michael found his present MI6 handler, Richard Chambers, sitting in a corner booth in the hotel restaurant studying the lunchtime menu. He had been working with Chambers for months now, but in that whole time. he had found it impossible to form any sort of bond with the man.

"Westen, sit."

Biting down on a sarcastic retort, Michael forced a toothy smile and slid into the seat facing his handler. As on every other meeting. Chambers was strictly business. Right from the start of their relationship, he had made no bones about his dislike for American spies and his utter loathing of their Provisional IRA sympathizing assets.

"There is a meeting taking place in a week's time," Chambers drawled as he reached into a black leather brief case at his side. Pulling out a blue cardboard folder, he threw it casually across the table so it landed in front of his CIA asset.

"And a good day to you too," Michael muttered, annoyed at the man's lack of respect. Opening the file, he began to read while Chambers started to fill him in with the highlights.

"Members of an independent commission are coming to Belfast to hold talks with the leadership in the Provisional IRA. Primarily the talks are to discuss the timetable for the decommissioning of the terrorists arms supplies. But it is also a chance for us to see who are going to be the troublemakers and who the government might be able to work with."

Michael looked up at this. His handler's turn of phrase wasn't lost on him. MI6 and probably MI5 too were going to have agents watching and listening into the independent committee meeting. No doubt plans were already being drawn up to make sure the troublemakers not only lost their seats at the table, but more than likely their lives at a later date.

"We have intelligence that a small group of Real IRA are planning to undermine this meeting with a series of bombings throughout Belfast and Dublin. This is where you come in, or rather Mike McBride and his girlfriend Fiona Glenanne -"

"You _want_ Fiona involved in this?"

It hadn't been that long ago that somebody in MI6 had tried to have Fiona arrested and identified as working for the British and now they wanted her for a mission?

"Unfortunately, I can't see another way for you to gather the necessary information in the time available." Chambers wasn't even trying to hide his distaste. "The intel we have places the bomb-maker and his unit operating out of various properties around the Falls Road."

"You have informers in the area? Can't -"

"Since the _very_ public death of the Hanrahan family, our informers aren't informing, especially on something this big... Oh, you probably don't know. Toby Hanrahan committed suicide last week, jumped off a bridge over the A1 during the London rush hour. We think he was making sure the remaining members of his family were going to be left alone. So we need _your_ asset to be _our_ way in."

Michael's eyes widened at the news. The Hanrahans had been his last assignment. Toby Hanrahan had been a MI6 informer for close to six years. During that time, he had provided invaluable information that had saved a lot of lives and also helped put a lot of very dangerous people behind bars.

But he had been found out and, though he was extracted to the safety of a MI6 safe-house, his family hadn't been so lucky. It had been Michael who had found Toby's wife and three children's bodies, the walls of their lodgings daubed with Mrs Hanrahan's blood. It had been a grim wake up call to what fate awaited Fiona if it was ever discovered she had helped a spy.

Closing the file, Michael got to his feet. "I'll ask her to help."

"Without telling her anything of value," Chambers reminded him.

Michael felt a flush of anger. He didn't need to be told his job.

"Of course." He gave his handler another toothy grin. "You know me."

"Yes, I do. Oh and Westen, there will be a lot of eyes on how we handle this op... Don't let me down." The British agent was already back to studying the menu.

Leaving the hotel, Michael decided to walk back to where he had left his car. It would give him more time to think about the assignment. He couldn't help grinning. With such a short deadline, they were going to have to go in with no preparation. It had been a few years since he had been given this much of a free rein. It was the sort of job he used to live for, one that made his heart pump hard and set every nerve on fire.

There was another reason for his eagerness to complete the assignment _I__f_ it went well, _if_ they were successful, it could be the job that would finally convince his CIA bosses that Fiona Glenanne was worth cultivating as an official asset. He just hoped Fiona was going to be willing to help him. They'd had a few disagreements recently about her criminal activities interfering with his anti-terrorism work.

But she still wanted peace. He knew that hadn't changed and he was certain she would be against a bombing campaign that could kill innocent men, women and children. By the time he pulled up outside his little Dublin flat, he was positive this would be the job that would make it possible for him to bring Fiona Glenanne out with him when his Ireland assignment finally came to an end.

Keeping his head down against the icy cold wind and rain, Michael rushed up the steep concrete steps which would take him back to Fiona. He had to break the news about the assignment and convince her to help, all by the end of the evening. Because with so little time, they were going to have to be set up in Belfast by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.

_Making plans._

While Michael was making his way back to Dublin, Fiona was in their flat reclining on the couch with a glass of red wine and several celebrity magazines spread out on the floor around her.

She had spent the morning in the flat next door chatting with her friend and neighbour, Bernadette Murphy, while helping to butcher the two whole lambs Bernadette's husband had brought home the night before. Riordan Murphy worked as a security guard at the docks and frequently returned home from work with items pilfered off the backs of the lorries that came through the port. Yesterday evening, he had arrived home with the carcasses of two lambs which had been his part in a large haul of meat stolen from a container which had been on its way to an English supermarket.

As they had worked on chopping up the meat for Bernadette to sell door to door, Fiona had vented about Michael McBride's lack of commitment and how he never considered her feelings when he put his friends first. By the time they were finished, she had felt a lot better and, after witnessing Bernadette's morning routine, had even gotten a little bit of perspective. At least Michael had never brought home stolen goods and then left her to prepare and sell said items, all while bringing up a houseful of kids.

After helping to get three children ready for school, clearing away the breakfast bowls and getting enough meat to supply a small butchers shop packaged up for sale, Fiona had been grateful to get back to her own flat. But not for long, as after a shower and a change of clothes, she decided what she really needed was a few therapeutic hours walking around the boutiques on Grafton Street.

By lunchtime, she was back home and spread out on the couch in front of the electric heater reading celebrity magazines. She was on to her second glass of wine when a blast of cold air alerted her to Michael's return.

He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. Stripping off his heavy winter coat, he came towards her with a wide welcoming smile creasing his features.

"You look happy," she commented.

"Yeah," he agreed. Carefully lifting her feet out of the way, he sat down at the end of the couch. Placing her legs on his lap, he began to massage her feet.

"_We_ have a job...That is if you want to help. There's a RIRA unit planning to disrupt the peace talks with a bombing campaign in Belfast and Dublin."

The magazine was forgotten; it dropped to the floor and her heart began to beat faster. "I thought we'd got all tha bloodthirsty bastids?" She sat up straight, her eyes sparking at the thought of having some Glenanne-style fun.

Destroying the Real IRA had been the reason for them working together in the first place. Michael had been sent by the British to disrupt and destroy this new more radical arm of the IRA and she, as a loyal supporter of the Provisional IRA, had been only too happy to help dismantle an organization which had split away from the PIRA and delighted in killing civilians. But it seemed they had missed a few.

"Not all of them apparently," he answered calmly. "But we only have a week to get the job done."

"A week!" She kicked her feet out of his hands and stood before him. "They want us ta find tham in a week? How tha hell are we supposed to do thot?"

"I have a list of suspects and all our intelligence points to them hiding out in the Falls." He brought out the file and dropped it down next to where he sat.

She felt a rush of anger. "Thot's why they've let ya bring me in ta tha loop... Ya need me ta take ya in thar."

He nodded solemnly. "We have one week to find them, discover where the bombs are and get something solid that can be used to get them arrested. Just knowing they're going to plant bombs and kill innocent civilians isn't enough, we have to have proof."

_That sounded like a boring way to get the job done._ "Or, you could tell me who yer after, an' I could give Sean a call an' _we_ could go sort out yar problem fer ya," she suggested with a devil-may-care grin. Her fingers reached out for the file.

Michael instantly threw a figurative bucket of cold water over her idea. "_We_ do it my way, Fi, or _you_ stay behind." He moved the evidence out of her reach, pushing it down the side of the couch between his leg and the armrest.

_So he wasn't going to let her loose on the murderous bastards who were planning whole scale death and destruction. But that didn't mean she couldn't have some fun. She just had to point out a few facts of life he'd seemed to have forgotten_.

She dropped down onto his lap, her arms snaking up around his neck, her lips pressing kisses to his forehead and nose before laying claim his lips and mouth, her tongue pushing between his teeth. The kiss was long and deep and, when they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.

"Yer a darlin' man, Michael McBride." She stared into his eyes. "But if ya go inta thot part o' Belfast without anybody ta vouch fer ya, at best nobody will talk to ya and some kids will come around ta whar yer stayin' an' make ya leave. Worst case, some poor bugger finds ya dangling fram a lamp post by a rope around yar neck." Her lips were now on his neck, sucking and nibbling the skin on his throat.

"So you'll help?" He tilted his head to give her better access, her touch warming him up far more than the little electric heater in front of them.

"Only if yer good an' fer once ya do exactly wha' I tell ya," she replied, gasping as his cold hands slid under her jumper and up her back so his fingers could work on the clasp on her bra.

The fastener came undone easily and he gathered up the jumper, pulling it and her bra over her head. Gently cupping the raised mounds of exposed flesh, he tore his gaze away from her breasts to look into her eyes.

"So wha' would ya like me t'do, luv?"

_God, she loved it when his voice took on that tone!_ Her tongue flickered out and she arched into his touch as his thumbs rubbed over her sensitive nipples.

"How abou' this?" He held her in place and leaned forward, taking one breast into his mouth, suckling and mouthing while she writhed on his lap.

His touch set her a fire, her fingers curling into his hair and holding him to her chest. Under her, she could feel him growing hard and her own body responding as she ground against him.

Tomorrow they would travel to Belfast and into the notoriously republican area of her youth, where army patrols only entered when accompanied by armoured personnel carriers. Where Provo and Real IRA fought and sometimes killed each other for their differing beliefs in which way forward was best. It was going to be dangerous, violent and bloody – a shiver of anticipation ran up her spine and her nails dragged through his scalp at the thought of what was to come.

"Bedroom, _now_." Her words came as a throaty growl. She needed him now, to feel him inside her, pounding her into the mattress.

He looked up at her with lust in his eyes and, with a deep groan, he got to his feet, holding her in place with his hands on her butt and her legs wrapped around his waist.

Her lips clashed against his, her tongue demanding entry to his mouth while her strong fingers continued to grip his hair. They were going to face death together and bring down what had to be the last hold outs of the radical splinter group which blighted the chance for some peace. They were going to raise hell in the devil's own back yard.

He dropped her onto the bed and grasped the waistband of her leggings, pulling them and her panties down and off in one swift move. She grinned up at him, wantonly spreading her legs in invitation.

"Come here." She raised her arms, calling him to her.

Instead she had to wait while he took his time unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. His eyes remained on her as his pants and boxers pooled about his feet. Only when he pulled his jumper over his head did he break eye contact.

All the time she was looking back at him, at his hard taut muscular frame. There wasn't a hint of fat anywhere and, when his boxers had finally fallen to the ground, her smile had widened as she stared at his dripping length. He was as ready as she was.

He knelt on the edge of the bed, leaning forwards when she made her move. Her legs came up, locking around his torso just below his armpits, dragging him on top of her. "Now, Michael," she ordered, her hands urging him to enter her, to give them both what they wanted.

He slammed into her in one hard fast move which drove the air from her lungs and pinned her to the mattress. As her lips parted, he laid claim to her mouth, kissing her hard, his tongue ravaging her mouth and barely giving her a chance to breathe.

Then he began to move, slowly at first, long deep thrusts grinding their pubic bones together as the tension built and the pleasure grew, he sped up and all that time his lips never left her, her mouth, her neck, her breast.

It wasn't enough… the heat was growing but not fast enough for her, her nails raked down his back, dug into his buttocks urging him on, while her teeth fastened on to his neck, his shoulder, his arm.

Panting and cussing, they took their sweat covered bodies over the edge in a tidal wave of mutual ecstasy.

Later, much later, she lay staring up at the ceiling, her body sore but sated, every muscle relaxed and her mind gloriously clear. One of Michael's hands was lying possessively over her left breast as he slept on his side with his body pressed up against her.

They had been fighting a lot recently, both of them concerned that his time in Ireland was nearly at an end and neither of them knowing exactly what to do about it. The way she saw it, this resurgence of the Real IRA was a gift. Surely it would prolong his stay and give them a chance to find a way to be together.

Slowly, she lifted his hand off her and slid out of the bed. This assignment had to succeed and she was going to do her part to make sure it went ahead smoothly. They were going to need somewhere safe to stay and to plot the downfall of this latest bunch of murdering sons of bitches.

Picking one of Michael's T-shirts off a pile of freshly laundered clothes, she slipped it over her head and crept out of the bedroom. The living room was in darkness. Switching on the light, she closed the curtains and then went searching for her address book.

_**()**_

Fiona sighed and closed her eyes for a second. Jeannie Donahue was never the easiest person to deal with, but they needed somewhere to stay close to the Falls Road area.

"Beidh muid codlata i leaba ar leith más rud é go cad ba mhaith leat." She promised they would sleep in separate beds.

"_Diabhal cailín ceart, beidh mé ag súil agat amárach__,__" _Jeannie replied.

"Go raibh maith agat." Smiling she thanked her relative for agreeing to let them stay and now all she had to do was break the news to Michael.

"Hey, Fi."

She jumped, nearly dropping the phone. "Hey," she greeted him with a smile, her eyes lingering over his bare chest.

"Who was that on tha phone?" He caught her in his arms, holding her close as he tenderly pressed his lips to her brow.

"We're goin' ta stay wid me Aunt Jeannie. I wa' just making tha arrangements." She tried to sound upbeat, wondering how much of the conversation he had heard.

"I thought I heard somethin' about separate beds?"

She'd forgotten that he knew enough Irish to follow a simple conversation. Blinking, she fixed her smile in place.

"Me Aunty Jeannie rents tha place off Liam and she doesn't want ta do anythin' ta upset ham."

Michael took two steps back and sat down on the couch, bringing her down onto his lap. "Liam's house? As in Liam, yar oldest brother who hates me?" he asked in a flat tone.

"He doesn't hate ya and it's not his house, not _really_... It's me Mother's. It was our family home fer a while, but Liam pays all tha bills and he lets Jeannie live thar."

"Fi, we're doing a job for the British government, we shouldn't be staying in the same house as your hard core republican brother."

She pressed the palm of her hand over his heart. "Liam doesn't live thar unless he is stuck in the city an' I know fer a fact he isn't stuck thar now."

"Can't you find us somewhere else to stay? There must be boarding houses or a hotel?" His ingratitude was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Ya want to be inconspicuous, don'cha? How will it look if I go home an' instead o' stayin' with me family, I book inta B and B? No, we're staying wid me Aunty Jeannie... Unless yer've changed ya mind and now ya wan' me an' Sean ta sort out yar RIRA problem fer ya?"

"Fine," he reluctantly agreed. "Aunt Jeannie's, it is... But separate beds? This Aunt of yours knows we're not kids, right?"

Fiona smiled sweetly. There was something incredibly delicious about Michael when he pouted. She leaned in and kissed the side of his mouth.

"She's old fashioned." Another kiss, this one sucking on his lower lip, "She's not even a proper Aunt. She's me Mother's second cousin, but she's a favorite o' Liam's so we must be nice to her." This time he returned her kiss, his tongue stroking against hers before he drew back.

"It's fer one week, tha's all. It'll give us even more incentive ta get finished as quick as we can."

"Fine," he muttered, reaching down the side of the couch for where he had left the mission brief earlier. "We should -"

She stopped his words by popping the button on his waistband.

"Fi?" he questioned.

His fly came undone as she slid down off his lap. "I was thinkin'. If it's goin' ta be separate beds fer a week, we should spend some more time together now. What d'ya think?" Grinning up at him, her fingers stroked along his exposed manhood.

"I -" he gulped, "I- I think we should go through the intel first."

She continued to smile and shook her head, her hand closing about him as he began to harden.

"Fi," his lips parted, as she blew softly over his exposed flesh, the warm air causing his brain to momentarily blank.

"We've plenty o' time ta go through the intel... I wanta have some fun first."

When she tugged at his jeans, he automatically lifted his hips to help her gain better access. "Fi, plea -"

His final attempt to get her to concentrate came to a stop as her tongue licked up his length, swirled over the head and down the other side. Moaning softly, he gave into her ministrations. Wrapping his fingers in her hair, he lifted the auburn locks clear of her face so he could watch.

Swallowing him down until she felt him at the back of her throat, she hummed, her eyes turning to watch his expression as he became undone. She loved to watch him fall apart at her touch. Slowly releasing him inch by inch until she held just the very tip between her lips, she went down on him again.

When she felt his muscles tense and his breathing quicken, she reached up to drag her nails over his nipples, flicking the hard raised nubs and sending him into a frenzy. She ignored the way his hands twisted and pulled at her hair as he tipped over the edge into a state of bliss.

Letting him go, she slowly kissed and licked her way up his chest, smiling to herself as his muscles continued to twitch from the aftershock of his orgasm.

"Now isn't tha' better than readin' tha' daft little folder?" she asked as she helped him ease his jeans back over his hips.

He smiled down at where her head snuggled into his shoulder, slowly flexing his fingers so he could untangle them from her hair. Brushing the locks off her face, he kissed the top of her head.

"Fi, Fiona…" Cupping her cheek, he guided her to look up at him.

Her lips parted as they stared lovingly at each other.

He cleared his throat, while his free hand reached out across the couch. "We still have to go over – ooof."

She elbowed him hard in the ribs, as his hand closed on the MI6 intelligence file. Pushing him away, she got to her feet, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Fi, this is important... We need to know this stuff," he tried to explain.

She scowled at him through narrowed eyes, her hair trigger temper ready to snap. "Important? D'ya think thar's anything in yar sainted MI6 file tha' I couldn't find out after ten minutes in any one o' tha bars off tha Falls Road? I tell ya, fer the price o' a pint o' Guinness and a whisky chaser, I can get ya tha name of tha bomber without all this cloak and dagger stuff."

She watched his jaw clench and his fingers tightened their grip on the file. She couldn't see what his problem was, why he had to complicate everything they did. In her experience, there wasn't a problem that couldn't be solved with a bullet or the right amount of C4.

"This cloak and dagger stuff, as you call it, is my job, Fi. It's important. If this job goes well, if we can show them how well we work together -"

He left the rest unsaid, but she knew what he was hinting. If they stopped the bomb threat and did everything by the book, his bosses _might_ give permission for them to continue working together.

"Fine." She forced a smile. She didn't want to think about being left behind in Ireland when he was ordered on to his next assignment. "Let's get this study session over and done with."

Sitting down next to him, she snatched the folder from his hands and placed it on her lap.

"But once war done wid it -"

He stopped her with a kiss, his arms drawing her in to a tender embrace. "Once we've gone over the intel, I'm all yours."

_**()()**_

The following morning, they packed their bags and, as far as the neighbors were concerned, they were off to visit Fiona's relatives in the North. While Fiona drove the whole way, Michael sat in the passenger seat reading through the MI6 file yet again.

After studying the photographs and the biographies of the suspects, he turned his attention to the street map of the area they were going into. He noted the deep red lines drawn along certain roads, marking out the boundaries between the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods.

He was so wrapped up in the assignment that it came a shock when they pulled off the motorway and Fiona slowed the car and took them onto the side streets.

Aunt Jeannie's home turned out to be a semi-detached house on a long narrow street of almost identical houses; hers was surrounded by high untidy hedges with the entrance barred by a waist high wrought iron gate. Getting out, Michael opened the gate for Fiona to drive inside.

As he closed the gate behind her, he noticed curtains twitch on several houses on the opposite side of the road. He guessed word would soon be spreading that Jeannie Donahue had visitors.

"Jayzuz, Fiona! How long has it been since ya last came visitin'? Yer as skinny as a rake!" Michael turned and got a nasty shock.

For some reason he had expected Jeannie Donuhue to look something like Maeve Glenanne: small, birdlike and in her sixties. Instead he found himself facing a tall shapely woman who looked to be about forty, shoulder length bottle blonde hair framing a heavily made up face and surrounded by a cloud of smoke from the cigarette held between her two fingers.

He stared open mouthed, barely registering the small yapping dogs nipping at his high-top laced boots.

"Aunty Jean, this is Michael McBride." Fiona's voice broke the spell.

Michael found himself under the searching gaze of a pair of sharp blue eyes. She raised her cigarette and sucked in a lungful of nicotine while she looked him over.

Now he was over the shock, he could see the resemblance to his mother was only superficial. Jeannie Donahue had an aura of hardness about her. Something told him that if any man ever raised a hand to her, unlike Madeline Westen, she would make sure it was the last thing he ever did.

"Michael?" Fiona snapped.

"Sorry." He shook off the shock and took two steps in her direction, hoping the little furry monsters around his feet would go away. "Please ta meet ya, Miz -"

"Call me Jeannie, boy... Fiona, come along inside while yar man gets yar bags." Jeannie dismissed him as she ushered Fiona inside.

Collecting their bags from the trunk, Michael took one more look around. He could still feel eyes watching his every move and realized how true Fiona's earlier words had been. A stranger asking questions wouldn't last a day in this part of the city.

Entering the house, he was again hit by a weird sense of deja-vu; Nineteen seventies décor, the strong smell of floral air freshener fighting with the odour of tobacco and nicotine coming from the overflowing ashtrays spread about the room.

For a brief second, it was as if he had stepped back into his family home, even down to the overbearing heat, though here it wasn't caused by the tropical sun beating down, but by the central heating being run at full blast.

However surreal his surroundings were, there was one thing he was sure about: he was going to do his level best to finish their assignment as _quickly_ as possible.


	6. Belfast part 2

**Who We Once Were.**

**A/N: First of all I'd like to thank you for all the lovely reviews for this story, I appreciate each one. Also special thanks to the wonderful Jedi Skysinger and the amazing Amanda Hawthorn who have read though this chapter for me and extra thanks to Jedi Skysinger for her BETA skills.  
><strong>

**Now please don't be annoyed with me, but I have made the decision to turn this story into a three part adventure. This second part had become a mammoth thirteen thousand word monster and still wasn't finished so I thought it would be easier to read if I split into two. The final part is nearly complete, and should be ready to post by tomorrow.  
><strong>

**x**

_**Belfast November 98 **_

_**part two. **_**Q****uestions and A****nswers.**_**  
><strong>_

Michael leaned forward, bracing himself with his hands against the white tiled wall of Jeannie Donahue's bathroom while hot water from the shower head rained down over his naked body, washing away a layer of sweat along with little bits of box conifer which had got trapped in his hair and inside his clothes. Breathing out a long heartfelt sigh, he silently prayed for an escape from the hell he found himself in.

It turned out that Jeannie Donahue had a lot more in common with his own mother than bottle blond hair and a love of cheap cigarettes. He didn't know if it was Fiona's perverse sense of humor or Jeannie, just like Madeline Westen, having a natural affinity for manipulation. But whatever it was, within an hour of stepping over the threshold of the over heated house, he was stepping back outside into the cold armed with a set of wooden stepladders and hedging shears.

"Thank ya so much, Fiona." The damn woman even had the nerve to thank Fiona for sending him out to bring order to the overgrown hedge marking the boundary to her front garden. "I swear Liam promised ta send somebody round ta do it fer me, but ya know how busy he is, tha poor man."

He had wanted to drop their bags off with Fiona's relative and get out on the streets to start the search for the six men he had on his list of suspects. He knew how critical this mission was and there was so little time; he had to find a bomb maker who might not even be one of the men on his list and neutralize him, his gang and any explosives he found, and he had to accomplish it all within a week.

Instead he had been stuck as if in a time warp doing household chores for a needy blonde. When he'd finally finished manicuring the out of control bushes, Fiona had joined him outside and helped him put away the ladders and shears. Seemingly overjoyed at his anger at the delay in starting the assignment, her fingers had worked loose the buttons on his jacket so her hands had free rein to drift over his body

"Ya need ta get cleaned up. We're goin' ta help Jeannie with har collections t'night," she had told him while grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Filled with indignation and frustration at all the delays she had put in his path, he'd opened his mouth to demand an explanation to what game was she playing, when she'd stopped his words with a soft kiss.

"Shhh!" she'd whispered, before leaning in closer and standing on her tiptoes so she could nip his earlobe. "Aunty Jeannie collects all tha protection money fram tha pubs along tha Falls."

Stepping back, she'd looked up at him expectantly and was rewarded when his scowl turned into a broad smile. He'd actually felt a little bit guilty for doubting her. She had just given them the perfect cover to visit all the pubs in one of the areas they had to search. It would also get his face seen amongst the locals as a trusted employee of one of the Cause's major fund raisers.

With his hair squeaky clean and free of greenery and the sweat washed off his body, Michael reached out and switched off the shower before stepping out of the bath. Grabbing a towel, he quickly dried himself off and, after a shave, he headed back to the room Jeannie had designated as his bedroom. It was the small room next to her main bedroom at the front of the house. Inside there was just enough room for a single bed and an ancient wardrobe with a full length mirror on one of the doors.

Fifteen minutes later, he was almost ready for a night out touring the bars of Belfast as the bodyguard to an official PIRA fund raiser. Staring critically at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror, he double checked his appearance. For a night out on the Falls Road, he wore black laced boots, black heavy cotton chino pants, his belt buckle decorated with an image of the Irish flag accompanied by a blue pinstriped shirt which hung untucked with an open collar. Around his neck hung a heavy gold rope chain and on his right hand a gold Saint Christopher signet ring. His dark hair was brushed straight back, giving him a severe look.

Satisfied with his appearance, he reached for his Sig Sauer P228 handgun, which was laying on the bed, when he heard the front door slam shut followed immediately by the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs. He barely had time to straightened up when his bedroom door was flung open.

"So d'ya wan' ta thank me now," Fiona grinned at him as she stepped through the door. "Or d'ya wan' ta leave it 'til later when we're back home an ya can do a proper job o' it?" She kicked the door shut behind her.

"Fiona?" Michael warily watched her predatory stalk in his direction. "Wha' about -"

She cut him off with a hard demanding kiss, her mouth sealing over his as her momentum forced him back against the wardrobe. As the kiss finished, he cupped her shoulders and eased her back so he could see her face.

"Your aunt said we -" He tried to remind her of Jeannie Donahue's very strict rules on their sleeping arrangements. The last thing he needed now was to lose the good faith of his ticket to acceptance in the local republican community.

"She's run outta cigarettes, so she's off down tha corner shop ta buy some more." She knocked his hands away and reached for his belt. "She'll be gone fer at least a quarter of an hour." Her eyes sparkled. "Wha's the matter, Michael? I thought ya liked taking risks?" The belt and his pants were undone.

"Think about t'night. War gonna find tha men yer lookin' fer." Her tongue flickered out to wet her luscious lips, while her hand reached inside his pants to rub across his growing erection. "An' then we can track em back t' whar thar stayin'."

He groaned wordlessly as his pants and boxers were pushed down and her warm soft hand wrapped around his flesh.

"An' we get tham alone an' force 'em ta tell us whar thar hiding all thar nasty lil' bombs." She was panting now, her eyes wide and full of temptation as she stared up at him. "Don't it just make ya hot thinkin' about all tha'? An' we have ten lil' minutes left ta cool down."

He smiled down at her his fingers tangling in her long mane of reddish brown hair. "Ten minutes?"

He pulled her closer before roughly spinning her around so her back was pressed up against the bedroom door, his leg pushing between hers, nudging them apart. As they kissed, his free hand worked it's way under the light filmy white silk top she was wearing to cup her breast through her bra.

"Ar' ya sure she'll be gone tha' long?" Michael queried, his voice rough with passion.

"Mebbe we shouldn't waste time talkin'" she answered, pushing his pants and boxers lower still as he set to work on her pants and thong.

Only going as far as taking one leg out of her trousers, his hand glided down her thigh and then raised the limb high up on to his hip. Stroking the curve of her buttock, he lifted her slightly as she guided him into her center.

It was fast and furious, the thrill of being caught sending both of them into a frenzy. Moaning in ecstasy as he slid into her warmth, feeling her tight muscles yield to form a sheath about him, Michael pushed deeper, slamming her back against the door. Her nails scraped through his hair and over his shoulders, her ragged breath on his neck urging him on as he took them both towards the heights of euphoria.

Just as he felt a wave of heat and her muscles pulse about him, she drew him into a fervent kiss, her strong fingers holding him to her as his legs shook and he followed over into bliss. They paused, locked together while their breathing slowed, clinging to each as if they would never let go.

"We should get cleaned up," Michael eventually found his voice.

Pressing a soft tender kiss to Fiona's bruised lips, he took a shaky step away from her just as they heard the sound of the wrought iron gate being pushed open below them.

They were still straightening up their clothes and hair when the front door opened and the clack of Jeannie's heels could be heard on the linoleum floor of the narrow hallway. With a pleased smirk gracing his features, Michael took a few seconds to run a comb through his hair before sliding out through his bedroom door and lightly running downstairs.

As he reached the bottom, Jeannie came out of the kitchen and stopped to look him up and down through what he now realized was the constant haze of smoke which followed her around.

"Whar's Fiona?" she asked suspiciously.

"Toilet," he answered ducking his head.

"Huh..." The look on Jeannie's face told him she knew exactly what they had been doing. "So, ya know wha yer doin' t'night? I've heard good things about ya off tha family... Sean especially, already thinks o' ya like a brother... But have ya done any o' this strong arm stuff befer? Thar don' look ta be enough o' ya."

"I can look after meself, Mi – Jeannie. Ya don' have a t'ing ta be worrying about."

"Tha's right, aunty." Fiona came down the stairs. "Michael is _very good_ at wha' he does... Aren't ya, Michael?"

They left the house and, to Michael's surprise, they set off on foot along the street making their way onto the Falls Road and then straight into the first pub they came to. Staying in the background, Michael scanned the bars patrons, but didn't see any of the men he was looking for.

Fiona accompanied her aunt as the older woman talked to the owner, smiling sweetly and laughing in all the right places. Then after fifteen minutes, the owner handed her a thick, long rectangular envelope and they left. Similar versions of the same thing happened in the next nine pubs they visited. In each one, all Michael was required to do was stand back and look menacing. For him, it was the perfect cover. By the end of the night, everybody was going to have heard about Jeannie Donahue's new bodyguard.

By ten o'clock, Fiona was holding a case filled with close to twenty thousand pounds. They escorted Jeannie to hand off the money to one of the IRA's henchmen who pulled up in a limousine with blacked out windows. Passing the case through an open rear window, the car pulled away without a word having been spoken.

After the car drove away, Jeannie turned to smile at the younger couple. "Am goin' ta have a coupla drinks wid me friends in town. You two mind yar selves har?"

They walked through the streets with Fiona's arm linked through Michael's, ignoring the groups of teenagers hanging out on the street corners as she took him away from the Falls Road where Jeannie did all her 'fund raising' and over onto the Springfield housing estate where she knew at least some of the Real IRA supporters used to live.

It had been a hot, late summer's night that a large group of Provisional IRA supporters had got together and driven all members of the Real IRA out of the area. Their presence after the Omagh bombing had brought too much police and army attention to the area, which in turn had had a detrimental effect on all the criminal activities that help fill the PIRA coffers. But since the cease fire, some of those RIRA members had quietly returned home.

They went from pub to pub on the Springfield estate, but nobody had much to say to Liam Glenanne's little sister or her quiet brooding boyfriend. They saw a few of the low level foot soldiers of the RIRA, but none of them were on Michael's list and, according to Fiona, none of them would be trusted with details of a bombing campaign.

It was as they were entering the fifth bar that Fiona spotted Mickey Sullivan, a short wiry man in his thirties who had been trying to prove himself to the leadership of the RIRA. He had been part of a small group who had attempted to steal arms from one of her brother Seamus' weapons dumps shortly after the split between the groups. Sully, as he was known, was higher up than a mere soldier, but not one of the top men either. He was what Michael would call a middle manager.

As soon as she saw Sully, Fiona dragged Michael back out of sight, her eyes alight with mischief. "I think I can get us some answers. Go wait around by tha backdoor, I'll get tha little rat ta come ta ya."

Michael peered into the bar. It was busy and loud. The man they were after appeared to be on his own. Finally he turned to her, his expression deadly serious.

"Be careful." And then he was gone to wait by the back door.

With a smile curving her lips, she fixed her gaze on her target and walked swiftly towards him. As Mickey Sullivan caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, he stiffened, looked again, realized she was coming straight at him and bolted towards the toilets and the back door.

Hitting the emergency exit bar, Sullivan shot through the doors and straight into the waiting arms of Michael McBride.

"Please, please, fer tha love o' God, Miss Glenanne, I wa' told I could come hame," the man wailed as Michael threw him hard up against a row of dumpsters and Fiona quietly pulled the door to the bar shut behind her.

"I'm not after ya, Sully, so stop yar wailin'," Fiona scolded. "I'm after some information... I noticed thar's a few o' yar Real IRA fellers sneaking back hame. I wan' ta know whose hidin' around har?"

"I can nae tell ya thot. They'll kill me."

"What do ya think I'll do ta ya?" Her hand gun seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Aw, sweet Jay-sus... I jus' wanted ta come hame."

Fiona cocked the gun and pointed it at the RIRA man's head. "Yer traitor scum, Sully. Ya tried ta steal fram me brudder's arms dump. Wha' d'ya think is goin' ta happen when he gets hold o' ya?"

"Shite! Please don't be tellin' ham I'm har. Fer tha love o' God, he'll murder me, so he will."

"So talk," Fiona answered bluntly, then looked over at where Michael stood to one side watching. "McBride, d'ya think ya could give Seamus a call an' tell -"

"Carberry!" Sullivan yelped. "Jack Carberry. He's stayin in tha Divis at his sister's, an' S-Sean Monaghan. I saw ham las' week o'er by tha Springfield Post Office. Tha's all I know."

"Well, yer not much use then, are ya?" she growled, getting ready to kill the man.

Michael stepped in and picked Sullivan up from where he was grovelling on the ground only to throw him against the brick wall of the pub.

"Sweetheart." He turned to Fiona. "I get cha want ta kill ham. I wan' tha same me self, but think about tha noise an' then we'd have ta dump tha body - - an' clear up all tha blood. Is he worth all tha trouble?"

Fiona pretended to think about it, but then went back to pointing the gun at Sully. "He'll talk."

"I won't, I swear I won't," Sullivan babbled, cowering back against the wall in fear. "Who would I tell? If they find out I spoke to ya, they'll kill me."

"So, wha' d'ya think?" Michael asked.

"Let ham go," Fiona ordered reluctantly.

Michael instantly grabbed the snivelling man by his collar and slammed him into the wall again, this time holding him there by pushing the end of his gun hard into Sullivan's temple. "Ya leave har now," he snarled. "Cos tha next time I see ya, I'll end ya."

Sullivan bolted as soon as he was let go.

"Ya think he'll warn them?" Michael asked as he watched the Irishman disappear around a corner.

"No, he's too scared... Carberry is on yar list. Setting up surveillance on tha Divis is gonna be near impossible."

Hearing the sound of footsteps coming their way and not wanting to explain what they were doing around the back of the pub, Michael suddenly grabbed hold of Fiona, enfolding her in his arms as he kissed her, his hands dropping to fondle and grope her buttocks.

She stiffened and he tensed, waiting to feel her fists or maybe her feet lay into him, when she realized what he's doing and her own arms grabbed him in a similar manner as she deepened the kiss even further.

"Get a room, why dontcha?" A drunken shout followed by other more graphic instructions on what he should do came from the group who passed by.

Grinning at each other, they stay pressed up against one another until the drunks were gone and then separated to head back the Jeannie's.

_**()**_

The following morning, Michael woke up alone in his single bed to the smell of a full Irish breakfast being cooked. It was something he still had trouble with even after nearly two years. Why did so many Irishmen love to eat a breakfast swimming in grease?

Quickly pulling on some clothes, he made a stop in the bathroom and then headed slowly downstairs. Dodging the Jeannie's yapping little dogs, which had at least stopped trying to nip at his ankles every time he moved.

"Ah, about time ya war up." Jeannie gently scolded from where she stood piling food onto a large plate. "Sit ya self down an' I'll bring yar brekkie through."

Even at seven in the morning, her make-up was in place and a cigarette was clenched between her lips. He wondered briefly how much cigarette ash had gone into the meal set before him.

"Thank ya, Mrs." He smiled up at her and then attacked his breakfast with gusto. However much he hated the heavy fat-filled food, he didn't show it on his face nor in his actions. Truth be told he had eaten far worse in the foothills of Bosnia.

Pushing away the now empty plate, Michael realized somebody was missing. "Whar's Fiona?"

"She's gone out ta have a look at sommit fer me... She'll be back soon... She tells me yer off sight seeing today... Ya wan' ta see whar she grew up?"

Michael nodded, curious about where Fiona was, but knowing better than to ask questions. "We wanted ta get away fer a few days."

"Seems like it's serious between tha two o' ya?" She picked up his plate and turned to go back into the kitchen. "Ya look after tha' girl."

Before he could answer, he was interrupted by the creak of the wrought iron gate and, when he got up to look out of the window, he saw Fiona pulling onto the drive in a bright red Lotus Esprit sports car.

"See I tol' ya she would nae be long," Jeannie said as she came to his side. "Now, why dontcha be a good boy and stick tha car in tha garage fer me while I talk ta Fi."

_**()**_

An hour later, after Fiona and Jeannie had finished being in conference in the kitchen, Fiona took Michael over to the Divis estate. Parking up across the opposite side of the main road, she gave him his first view of the tall tower block.

"Tha army has a look-out post on tha roof an' has control o' tha top two floors. They fly in an' out usin' a chopper; it's tha only safe way fer em ta bring in supplies an' troops. Fram up thar they can see tha whole area an' it means we pull off anything, thar's gonna be a chopper in tha air within minutes an' tha fellas on watch will be able ta direct tha ground troops straight at our position."

Michael nodded, he already knew this from the MI6 file.

"An' of course thar's another problem. Everybody knows everybody else round har. If word gets back ta Carberry thot somebody is askin' questions, he'll smell a rat an' we'll never see ham again."

Michael clenched his jaw and let his head fall back against the headrest. After a moment, he opened his eyes. "He won' be building his bombs har. If everybody knows everybody else's business, he wouldn't wan' ta risk an informer tellin' tha cops or those army boys. We have ta find out whar he goes an' if I can, I'd like ta get a bug on ham."

Fiona nodded and sighed. "Did I ever tell ya how much I hate surveillance?"

"Only every time we have to do some." He looked at his watch. "We don't know which flat is his, _or_ when he's due to come out _an'_ if we sit here too long, we'll be spotted... How about we come back later. Hang out in tha local bar an' see if we can spot ham or any of his friends."

Fiona thought about it for a few seconds and then turned to Michael. "Sully said Carberry is stayin' wid his sister. Mary works in a hairdressers off Lisburn Street. How about I go an have a few words wid har?"

"Wha' d'ya mean by a _few words_?" Michael asked warily.

Fiona fiddled with her hair, looking at the ends. "I'll call in fer a trim. Ya know wha' we girls are like... We love a wee bit o' gossip."

By the end of the morning, Fiona had discovered Jack Carberry had been arrested a week earlier. On his second night back in his home town, he had beaten his brother-in-law to a pulp after getting drunk. It had been Mary who had called the police on him and she didn't care what anybody thought of her informing on her sibling. She was glad to see the back of her little brother.

The joy of thinking they had found their bomber was crushed in that instant. Michael frowned and then pulled himself back together. This wasn't over. They still had days to complete the assignment. He just had to find another lead before he checked in with Richard Chambers. He looked over at Fiona. _This assignment __had__ to be a success._

_This wasn't over. _He looked up at her. "We have to find Monaghan. Where's the Springfield Post Office?"

"Not far, but if we go thar now, we'll just be driving around."

He nodded his agreement but then stopped and looked closer at her. There was something in her tone that was arousing his suspicions. "Fiona?"

She huffed and sighed before turning in her seat to face him. "One o' tha bars thot pay Jeannie fer protection wa' raided last night. I wa' lookin' in ta it this morning, an' I need ta go back this afternoon ta meet up wid tha local unit commander."

"_No!_" He shook his head, seeing all sorts of problems developing. "Fi, you can't be involved in this when -"

"It's tha man's livelihood, Michael! And he pays good money so things like this don' happen."

_She was going to ruin everything. If she couldn't concentrate on one thing at a time, his own people would never accept her as an official asset. Some poor guy losing his business was bad, but what they were doing was far more important._ Swallowing thickly, he stared into her eyes and saw the broad stubborn streak he was so fond of staring back at him.

"Fine," he gritted the word out, making sure she knew things were definitely not fine. "_You_ go sort out your Aunt's problem, I'll go through everything we have on Monaghan. Maybe there's something that will help."

"You could come with me?" she asked in a quiet tone.

"If you _need_ me, I'll come and help. But _my_ job has to take -"

"Fine, Michael... Ya should watcha accent. ya keep lettin' it slip." She turned away to concentrate on driving, letting him know as far as she was concerned the matter was closed.

With Fiona and Jeannie off to speak to the local Provo commander, Michael had the house to himself. Making a cup of tea, he settled down in his bedroom with MI6 file. Pulling out the photograph of Sean Monaghan, he stared at the face glaring back at him. The man was in his fifties and had been a hard line member of the Provisional IRA and had changed his loyalties to the new organization without a hint of remorse.

Monaghan was suspected of being one of the engineers who built the home-made mortars the RIRA used in several attacks. Chewing on his lower lip, Michael searched through the rest of the documents trying to find any more information. But it seemed MI6 had decided to leave the bulk of intelligence gathering to him.

The only other thing he found was the address of Monaghan's aged parents, who were both in poor health. If the RIRA terrorist had come back to the area, it was probably to look after them. Turning to his street map, he noted that there was a pub within easy walking distance of the parent's house. _That was where they would start the search_.

_**()**_

The Red Bull Pub was a small place with a sticky linoleum floor which looked and felt like it hadn't been cleaned for weeks, if not months. The bar was old ornate dark wood with room for maybe four people to stand. There was seating along each side of the room, four tables and at each table three chairs with torn stained red velvet seats. The place was a complete and utter dive.

As they walked the few steps to the bar, they were both aware of the eyes of the six locals who were at present following their progress. Ignoring the looks, the couple strode confidently up to where the tired and world weary barman waited to serve them.

"A gin and tonic fer tha lady and a pint o' yar best fer me," Michael ordered the drinks.

An hour later, the place had begun to get very crowded and rowdy. They stayed in the corner, close to the bar where anybody wanting a drink had to come into their sights. The noise and the smoke from nearly every one of the thirty or forty people packed in to the small place smoking had Michael wishing he could give up.

Then Fiona tapped his arm and directed his gaze to two men who were pushing their way through the crowd.

"Monaghan," she hissed the name into his ear, "and look who he's with... Thar's John Kelly. He murdered two Brit soldiers wid a land mine jus' befer tha cease fire. Thar's a lotta people who would be very happy if he caught a bullet... Tha UDF retaliated by shootin' up a pub in Derry, killed eight men an' a woman who worked thar."

Leaning over as if giving her a kiss, he whispered in her ear. "It looks like we have a winner."

She smiled up at him, a shiver running up her spine as his breath tickled her ear. "I tol' ya, I'd find yar targets."

It wasn't long before Monaghan and Kelly were joined by two more men, neither who were on the MI6 list of suspects or known to Fiona. Remaining in the corner, they played the part of a couple just out for a night, while all the time keeping watch on the quartet. A couple of times people came over to talk to them, showing Fiona respect asking after her family. Each time she introduced him as her boyfriend Michael McBride and then gently made it clear they wanted to left alone.

The sound of the last orders bell ringing out and the sudden rush for the bar was the perfect chance for Fiona and Michael to leave the pub unnoticed. Outside they settled into the shadows of a dark shop doorway.

With his back against the reinforced shutters, Michael could keep an eye on everybody who came out of the bar, while Fiona did her best to test his tactical resolve as she set about enjoying herself. Grinding up against him she opened several buttons on his shirt, her fingers lightly skimming over the exposed skin of his chest and torso while her mouth lay feather-light kisses to his throat and chin.

"Why dontcha leave these boys ta the Provo? One phone call is it all it would take, an' d'ya know how many favors they'd owe us if we gave 'em Kelly?" She pinched his nipples and ran her tongue along his lips.

"Fi – Fiona I – I have to -" he swallowed and stopped talking as she carefully raised her leg between his to rub her knee against his balls.

"We're supposed ta be making out," she reminded him and nipped his shoulder.

Suddenly he kissed her back, cradling her head in between his hands as his tongue forced it's way between her lips to lay claim to her mouth. She sagged in his arms as he overpowered her, but then, just as sudden as the kiss began, it ended and she almost fell when he let go of her.

"C'mon, Fi." He stepped out from the door way. "Or we'll lose ham."

Staying well back, they followed Monaghan until he disappeared down a dark narrow alley way. Guessing that the terrorist was checking for a tail, they walked past wrapped in each others arms. Michael was happy enough that his target was heading in the direction of his elderly parents' home.

With nothing more to do, they strolled back to Jeannie's house, cuddling up against each other for warmth. All the way, Fiona talked with excitement about getting her hands on the man who caused so much grief with his hatred of the British. She hated them too, but to commit acts which would cause such a retaliation, _she hated the Real IRA more_.

"I think we'll go back ta tha pub tomorra, an' I'll get ears on 'em... Maybe plant a tracker, too. It should be easy enough. Tha place was crowded."

Fiona didn't reply, but he could feel her disapproval in the way she slightly drew away from him. Pursing his lips, he pulled her close, but after a moment she brought them both to a stop and stood in front of him.

Under the dim street lights, she looked up at him her expression pleading with him to see sense. "If ya plant any of yar fancy electronics on Monaghan or Kelly an they find tham, they'll be gone in less than thirty minutes... We should just shoot 'em an' be done wid it."

His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "If we shoot tham, tha bombs would still be out thar... Can we just do this my way?"

She shook her head. He obviously didn't get how especially dangerous John Kelly was. There was no way he would be taken alive. It would be in everybody's best interest for the evil sociopath to die a preferably painful death.

"We should call Pat O'Connor. He's the local unit commander." She tried one last time to make him see sense, her heart dropping when he shook his head. With a frustrated huff, she gave up. "Well, har's hoping tha bloodthirsty bastids are daft enough not ta check thar pockets."

Michael relaxed and a soft gentle smile changed his whole expression. "I've done this befer, Fi. I know wha' I'm doin'." He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear, his fingers continuing to trail down her neck until his hand stopped over her heart. "Trust me, darlin'?"

She nodded, knowing he would do things his way regardless of her advice. Slipping back next to him, she wrapped her arm around his waist. "I trust yer Michael, an' when John Kelly has a shotgun ta yar head, I'll be sure ta remind ya abou' dis conversation."

_**()**_

The following day, Michael was up early. He had a lot of things to do. One of the first was to get out and make a call to Richard Chambers. He needed to report in on his progress and request the bugging and tracking equipment he was going to need for tonight. After consuming another grease filled breakfast ,he informed Jeannie that he and Fiona were going to be out for the whole day.

"So, whar are ya off ta today?" Jeannie asked.

"Shopping," Fiona butted in with a big grin. "Michael is gonna spend tha whole day helpin' me shop."

"Oh aye?" Jeannie smirked. Turning her head slightly, she fixed Michael with a penetrating stare. "An' wha' have ya done ta deserve thot punishment, Boyo?"

"Nothin'..." He dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Nothin' we're talkin' about har," Fiona interrupted and pulled him towards the door.

_**()**_

After leaving Fiona to roam around the shops in Donegall Square, Michael went off to meet with his handler. He had already called Chambers on their way into the city center to inform him they had a real contender for the mystery bomb maker and the Englishman had agreed that even if Monaghan turned out not to be the man they were after, the fact he was working with another notorious killer was something that needed monitoring.

He found Chambers sitting casually sipping coffee inside a cafe on Arthur Street. Walking in, Michael looked around watching from the corner of his eye as Chambers stood up and walked briskly out leaving his newspaper on the table. Before any of the waiting staff could clean the table, Michael slipped into the vacated chair and picked up the abandoned copy of the Belfast Telegraph.

Ordering a coffee and a pastry, Michael carefully opened the paper and slipped the small anti-static bag containing four bugs and two trackers into his pocket. He also found a handwritten note amongst the pages.

_The bugs have listening range of a mile, but stay close to the scene in case urgent action has to be taken. DO NOT give your Irish asset access to this equipment or the recordings. RC._

He drank half of the coffee and ate all of the pastry. Then while he waited for the bill to arrive, he tore the note into pieces before screwing it up into a ball and dropping it into the half full cup of cold coffee. Waiting until after the note turned to mush, he got up and paid the bill and made his way back to where Fiona was making her way through his latest paycheck.

As he walked along, pushing his way through the crowds of shoppers and tourists, he tried to work out the best way to let Fiona know she was out. He had decided the night before that he needed to distance her from the assignment. He was sure her hatred for John Kelly would eventually effect the mission. But how to tell her without getting his head blown off? That was going to be the tricky part.

He met up with her by the tall iron gates surrounding Belfast City Hall on the north side of Donegall Square, noting she already had five large plastic shopping bags hanging from her arms.

"Don't worry, Michael. I've bought ya sommit; it's not all fer me." She walked towards him, a big welcoming smile on her face. "An' I've bought Aunty Jean sommit nice fer letting us stay."

He grinned back, pulling her in for a kiss before taking the bags out of one of her hands and slipping his free arm over her shoulder. "We should get back. I wan' ta check out tha location. Getta feel fer tha area befer t'night."

Three hours later, Michael still hadn't told Fiona she was off the assignment and he knew he couldn't wait much longer. She had driven him around the area surrounding the Red Bull Pub and even helped him pick out the best spots where he could sit in a car and listen to the RIRA unit plot their upcoming bombing campaign. He knew the longer he left it, the worse it was going to be.

As they turned onto Jeannie's street, Michael gently laid his hand over the top of hers on the steering wheel. "Fiona, pull over... We need to talk."

Sitting there, he swallowed and took a courage boosting breath. "I've been ordered to go ahead _alone_." He paused, but she just stared at him through narrowed eyes, her body perfectly still. " And I agree with their analysis... You've been taking this way too personal." _There he had said it. Now all he had to do was wait for the explosion._

"O' course I'm takin' this personally, Michael," she finally spoke. "Kelly and Monaghan are worse than animals." She glared at him, her expression both angry and hurt. "They need puttin' down."

"Fi – _Fiona_. They could have vital intel -"

She hit him, an open handed slap that rocked his head to the side and left a bright red imprint of a hand on his cheek. "I expect thot fram yer Brit friends," she spat the words out.

Rubbing his sore cheek, he blinked away the moisture building in his eyes from the blow. "Fi."

He tried to show her he was sorry, as he reached for her hand, but she would have none of it.

"Fine, Michael, ya go off an' play yer spy games."

She turned away from him to stare out the windshield and eased the car back onto the road.

"But don't ya be callin' me ter bail ya out when it all goes wrong."


	7. Belfast Part 3

**WHO WE ONCE WERE.**

**A/N: Thank you everybody who reviewed the last chapter and for your patience in waiting for this final installment of Belfast Nov 98. As always thanks to Jedi Skysinger and Amanda Hawthorn for reading through for me and of course extra thanks to Jedi Skysinger for allowing me to use her BETA skills.  
><strong>

**Belfast November 98**

**Part Three A Bath & a Haircut.**

Jeannie wisely kept quiet when McBride left her house in the early evening without speaking so much as a word to his sulking, stony faced girlfriend. She also kept her advice to herself when Fiona sat morosely at the dining table and only picked at her meal of Irish stew and dumplings. Finally though, Jeannie had had enough of the loaded silence and made the decision to take herself out for the evening.

Whatever was going on between the young couple was none of her business and she knew if she stayed indoors eventually Fiona would spill the beans; you didn't get that pissed off without wanting to vent to somebody. And if that happened, she would be honor-bound to report what she heard to Liam Glenanne. Regardless of what had caused the lovers tiff, she was pretty sure wouldn't be made any better by the eldest Glenanne sibling's heavy-handed approach to life's little problems.

Left on her own, Fiona sat and let her anger simmer. She was what her mother called spitting mad. What she wanted to do was go out find John Kelly herself and let him know exactly how she felt about the RIRA and the men who were fighting against the first chance of true peace in over thirty years.

But she couldn't do it. If she went after Kelly, it would ruin what Michael was working on and, as much as she wanted to say she didn't care, she knew it was a lie. So, she was stuck at indoors sitting on her hands waiting for Michael to return.

God she hated the thought of becoming a woman like that, expected to remain on the sidelines while her man went out to have all the fun. She was strong, independent and capable and _he_ shouldn't have left her behind.

Getting to her feet, she paced around the living room, her mind a whirl with the thought of what she could do with the small amount of Semtex Michael had allowed her to pack for this assignment. _Allowed! _That one word had her hands turning to fists.

Then she stopped and took a couple of deep breaths. She needed to find something to take her mind off what was happening on the Springfield estate. Resigning herself to a long wait, she went over to Jeannie's armchair and began searching through her stash of women's magazines. She was just about to open up a recent edition of Women's Weekly when her cell phone began to ring.

"F-Fiona, I need you to come an' get me."

Her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of his voice, but she forced it down.

"Come an' get ya, Michael? I thought ya needed me ta sit this one out." She managed to keep the concern she felt out of her tone.

"_Please_, Fi, I'm over by Corporation Square."

"Corpor- ? Damn it, Michael I tol' ya goin' in on yar own wa' a mistake." She was heading for the door, avoiding the tiny dogs which were instantly on their feet following her. Grabbing up Jeannie's car keys, she ran for the garage. "I'm on my way now... Are you hurt?"

"Not exactly."

"Not -? I've got to go." She dropped her phone into her pocket while she unlocked the padlock on the garage door. Two minutes later, she was putting the Lotus Esprit through its paces on the back roads heading across the city towards the docks and Corporation Square. "How tha hell did he end up all tha way over har?" she wondered out loud as she neared her destination.

Ten minutes later, she spotted him in the car headlights, bedraggled and soaking wet. She could make out a slightly thicker substance leaking from somewhere above his hairline and dribbling down his neck. Coming to a stop next to him, she leaned over the passenger seat to try to get a closer look when he opened the car door. Instantly she recoiled in horror, gagging at the awful stench which filled the vehicle. Reacting on instinct, she pressed down on the accelerator pedal making the vehicle lurch forward sending Michael straight onto his back in the road.

As he climbed slowly to his feet, Fiona made sure the doors were locked to keep him outside of the vehicle.

"Fi?" he hissed angrily.

She stared out at him, her eyes watering from the disgusting odour which still lingered inside the car. "Jayzus, Michael! Wha' the hell have ya been up to? Don' think yer getting in here smellin' like thot!" she shouted through the glass. "Strip off them clothes!"

"Yer kiddin' me? This isn't tha time fer yar games, Fiona!" His voice shook with fury as his hand smacked down on the hood of the Lotus.

"You wan' in this car, yer get rid o' those rags. I don't even wan' ta know whar yer've been," she yelled back.

Michael was freezing and he could see Fiona had no intention of letting him in her relative's fancy sports car until he did as she demanded. It went against every instinct he possessed, but in the end Michael removed his foul smelling clothing. As soon as he capitulated, Fiona threw the dogs' blanket out of the window for him to wrap himself in.

"Yer shoulda said sommit, an' I woulda brought ya clean clothes," she admonished when she finally let him inside.

"Thar wa' no time, an' I didn't think ya would make me strip," he answered coldly, pulling the blanket even tighter around his person.

"Stop yar whining, Michael. Ya woulda had ta throw tham away, anyways. I jus' saved ya some time... Now, tell me wha' happened?"

So he explained how everything had been going well, the bugs had been planted along with a couple of trackers and he had left the bar to sit in a car he had stolen for the occasion. He had been sitting taking notes, when out of nowhere an army patrol came upon him acting suspiciously and sitting in a stolen car.

"They shouldn't have been there," he muttered, staring out of the side window. "Chambers shoulda cleared the location. I had no choice. I had to make a break for it. If they'd have arrested me and then let me go -" He shook his head, not liking the way his thoughts were taking him.

"Ta maintain yar cover, they'd had ta have held ya fer at least a week or people woulda got suspicious," Fiona commented.

"It doesn't matter," Michael sighed, "I got away. My cover is still intact. Still, I'm gonna call Chambers the first chance I get an find out what the hell happened to team–" He cut off his speech as he suddenly noticed they were heading east, away from the Falls Road and the city. "Fi, where are we going?"

"If we go back ta tha house, Jeannie'll ask too many questions. With ya stinking ta high heaven an' as naked as tha day ya war born, she'd be on tha phone ta me mudder befer we got ya up tha stairs."

A few minutes later, Fiona turned a corner onto a wide tree lined street in a very affluent suburban area. High walls and fancy gates marked the boundaries of large well maintained houses. All the street lights worked and there wasn't a single piece of graffiti to be seen anywhere.

Half way along the street, she slowed even further and pressed a button on the Lotus key fob.

"Fiona, whose house is this?" Michael sat up straighter to peer out into the darkness.

An electric gate slid open and she pulled onto a wide gravel covered drive. Ahead of them was an impressive two-story property, the whitewashed walls gleaming under the security lighting which bathed the whole of the front of the house in bright lights.

"Liam's, well Liam's and Colin's," she finally answered him, as the door to the garage began to roll up.

Michael went pale, looking down at the old blanket which was the only article he had to maintain his modesty. "I am _not_ walking in on your brother like this," he stated firmly.

He wasn't sure what Liam would do to him, but he was pretty sure it would be something painful involving the surgeons tools he was renowned for using during his IRA sanctioned interrogations.

"Don't worry yerself, he's away," she laughed at him.

"Away?" Questions bubbled up, the most important one being 'for how long'?

"I'm sorry, Michael, can't tell ya 's classified," she smirked and drove the sports car straight into the garage though the open door.

Once inside the house, she gave him no time to look around the head of the Glenanne family's private domain. Instead she dragged him by gripping the blanket straight up the wide carpeted staircase to the first floor. "We need ta get ya clean," she told him. "An' until we do, try not ta touch anythin'."

The bathroom had a cork tiled floor and shiny white tiles on the walls only broken by a double row of dark green tiles. There was a deep, rolled-top bath in the center of the room. One corner was taken up by a large double shower cubicle, while a long vanity unit ran the length of the opposite wall.

All business, Fiona handed Michael a cheap bottle of medicated body wash and pointed to the shower cubicle. "Get tha worst o' wha'ever it is yer covered in off in tha shower while I run ya a bath. Once yer clean, I'll sort out yar head."

While he showered, she ran the bath adding copious amounts of cheap bubble bath. She could never understand Liam. He had a beautiful house which he spent a small fortune on and then he stocked his bathroom with the cheapest products to be found on the shelves of the nearest supermarket.

Once the bath was filled, she glanced over to the glass door of the shower cubicle. Even though it was misted up from the steam from the hot water, she could still make out the shape of the masculine body inside, the play of his muscles as he moved under the jets of water, the curve of his buttocks, the outline of his thighs and calves. She stared as if enchanted, until the water stopped running and there was the click of the shower door opening.

Before she knew it, he was looming over her and then crushing her to his chest as his lips sought out hers in a deeply passionate kiss which left her breathless. When he released her, she staggered back and swore softly when she realized that he had completely soaked the front of her white angora jumper and black skinny jeans.

"Michael!" she shrieked in mock outrage.

But he just grinned and reached out for her again. In his present state of undress, it was easy to see where his mind was going. She knocked his hands aside and pushed him towards the free standing tub in the center of the room.

"Away wid ya! Ya stank out me Aunty's car and then ruined me top. Get inta the water." While she berated him with her words, her eyes were betraying her as they focused on the way droplets of water were trailing over his chest and dripping down onto his abdomen. Without conscious thought, her tongue ran along her suddenly dry lips as she followed the path of moisture lower still.

"Yes, ma'am."

At the sound of his voice, she looked up and caught him smirking back at her; he had seen where and what she had been looking at. _Bastard._

Sliding into the water, he sighed and sank down amongst the bubbles, letting his head loll back over the edge. Regaining control of her senses, Fiona reminded herself that she was there first and foremost to treat Michael's head wound.

Kneeling down behind him, she felt the uncomfortable pull of the now soaking wet, tight fitting woolen jumper on her arms. So without a thought, she pulled it over her head to free her limbs for the task ahead. Starting off gently, she ran her fingers through his damp, softly curling hair, probing for the source of the blood that had been running down over his neck.

She felt him flinch when she discovered a lump and a small but deep cut about three inches above his temple. The wound was going to need a thorough cleaning and probably a couple of stitches to be safe. She let her hands drop to his shoulders, feeling the tightness in his muscles. Kneading away at the granite-like flesh until she felt the muscles relax, she stared down at him. _He wasn't going to be happy about what she was going to have to do._

"Am gonna have ta cut yar hair."

And with that, she pushed him down under the water, holding him there for just a second or two. Then letting go, she moved back as water splashed all over the floor.

"What the hell!" He gasped, trying to catch his breath while he wiped the water from his eyes.

"It's pointless me stitching up thot wee little scrape if yar hair still stinks o' tha sewer," she answered his look of accusation and her mischievous smile widened as his eyes lighted on the twin mounds encased in white lace.

Letting him look, she strutted seductively across the room to a large medicine cabinet and collected scissors and her brother's surgical sewing kit. He was not going to like her cutting chunks out of his hair and, to her way of thinking the more distracted he was, the easier it would be for her to do the job.

Setting everything down near the bath, she stood up and slowly striped off her wet jeans, peeling them down her legs. Standing before him in only her underwear, she raised her arms up over her head to fix her hair into a pony tail. She watched him through half open eyes as he openly admired her semi-naked body.

"Am gonna have ta cut off some o' yar hair ta get ta tha wound... I'll do me best ta just take a little bit... Yer alright with me doin' it?" She picked up the scissors and made a snipping motion with the blades.

He swallowed, dragging his eyes away from her body. "Just enough to get to the wound," he confirmed.

His hair had grown out of the short, militaristic style he had cultivated for the previous fourteen years. First the Army and then covert operations for the CIA in Russia, Bosnia, and the rest of Eastern Europe had all called for neat, short haircuts. But for this assignment, he had been able to let it grow longer and had become fond of the feel of Fiona's fingers running through it.

She sat down on the edge of the bath, facing him as she leaned forward and took several strands of his thick dark hair in between her fingers. Feeling his warm breath on her chest, she placed the scissor blade flat against his scalp and made the first cut, and got her first unobstructed view of the raised red and black lump marring his scalp.

"Am gonna have ta clean the wound out with antiseptic an' then put in a coupla o' stitches," she told him. "It's a pity me brudders don't have any clippers. It would make tha job a lot easier."

He ignored her comments, seemingly far too preoccupied lightly caressing her stomach and sides. His gossamer-like touch igniting a fire in her belly as his fingers made their way slowly upwards. Holding her breath she blinked and took a second snip of hair, her hands trembling slightly when her bra came undone, the straps sliding down her arms.

"Ya have ta stay still," she ordered, though the words came out a little shaky.

"Mmmm," he answered as he shifted forward to remove the bra completely.

His strong calloused palms cupped her exposed breasts and he moved again and more water went over the sides. His lips tenderly kissed each nipple, then he blew softly over the raised nubs and she felt her whole body pulse.

"Michael, I have ta get this done." Using all her resolve, she pushed him away.

"You started this," he commented, looking up at her with lust written all over his face.

"An' yer tha one who'll end up bald if ya don' keep still," she answered and gathered up some more strands to make a third cut.

Taking a deep breath, she paused before making the cut which exposed the nasty little wound completely. She let out a sigh, seeing it wasn't as bad as she had suspected. It was deep but the edges were clean and the flesh hadn't started to dry out and die.

His hands were back on her waist tenderly stroking the skin slowly slipping lower to the waist band of her French cut lace panties.

"I still have ta stitch it up," she gulped at his delicate touch.

"Get some glue," he suggested as he continued to toy with the edges of lace.

"I don't know if Liam has any or, if he does, where he keeps it... Don't worry. I've sewn ya up befer an' this only needs a couple."

Reluctantly, she got to her feet and went to where she had left the medical supplies. "I've got all I need har." She brought out a pack of sterile dressings and a bottle of surgical disinfectant.

He watched her work at sterilizing the needle and then she came over and, while she cleaned the wound, they both enjoyed his hands skimming over her exposed flesh, kneading her breasts and rolling her nipples between his fingers. By the time she had the needle and thread ready, her body was tingling with desire.

"I mean it this time, keep still." She smacked his hands away from where they had settled on her inner thighs.

Standing up she carefully began the job of closing the open wound. As she worked, she was very much aware of his hand stroking up and down her leg. The only time there was a pause in the soft touch was when she pushed the needle through the skin as close to the edge of the wound as she could get.

"There, we're finished." She sighed with relief and a little tremor went through her body as his hand settled between her legs.

"No," he refuted her comment and swallowed thickly. His fingers edging under the lace, "No, we're not."

She gasped as one finger slipped inside her center and a rush of warmth spread through her core.

"Shh…" He held on to her leg keeping her still. His lips peppering her thigh with kisses, while his finger slowly moved in and out.

"Michael, we -" A second finger joined the first and he increased the pace. "Oh!" she gasped and her hand gripped onto his shoulder tightly as he drove her towards release.

Trembling while her whole body pulsed, Fiona struggled to stay on her feet as he sent her over the edge into a state of bliss. With the tremors still running through her limbs and her mind pleasantly blank, Fiona sank down to sit on the edge of the bath.

"Thank you." Michael pressed his lips to her thigh. "Thank you for coming for me... I shouldn't have cut you out."

He had _never _apologized to her before. She reached out her hand, pausing inches from his hair, then settling around his shoulders. Leaning forward, she placed a tender kiss to his head. "I'll always come fer ya, Michael. Yer not gonna get rid o' me thot easy."

"Good," he murmured and then lurched up out of the water.

Climbing out, he pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her, soft tender touches of his lips to hers, slowly deepening until they were locked together, losing themselves in the moment. Ever so slowly, they sank down onto the floor, until she was astride him rubbing herself over his erection.

"Fi…" He held her face between his hands. "Please." His hips bucked up as she ground down on top of him.

"After wha' ya did ta me... I don't think so." She moved back until she was sat upright on him, her damp skin glowing under the overhead lights of the bathroom.

Her thumbs circled and rubbed over his nipples, as she gently rocked against his manhood which she held trapped underneath her. "Am not done wid ya yet, McBride."

Sliding down his body, she came to rest with her lips poised over his aching swollen flesh. Staring back up at him, she blew gently on his tip and her smile grew as she saw him tense. Slowly, she took him into her mouth, her tongue licking its way up and down as she went lower until she could feel him at the back of her throat. Then just as slowly, she came up releasing him with a tender kiss.

His hands were in her hair, his fingers entwined in the long reddish brown pony tail, gently but firmly pulling her upwards.

"Come here," he groaned, urging her to work her way back up his body.

Kissing, licking and nipping her way over the flat plane of his stomach, the ridged lines of his abs until her mouth could close over his lips. His hands pushed at her panties until they slipped down and out of his reach. After kicking them off, she lifted up and helped him to find her warm wet core.

Finally together, they moved in a slow languid rhythm. Sitting up, she arched her back to alter the angle of penetration. A low purr escaping from her lips as he sat up to take one breast into his mouth suckling on the pliant flesh while his hand took care of her other one pinching her sensitive nipple making her moan in ecstasy.

As their pleasure grew and breathing became more ragged, he twisted her around so she was on her back beneath him, her long legs wrapped around his waist as he took them crashing over in wave after wave of rapturous bliss.

Feeling his weight settle on her chest and pressing down on her hips, Fiona dragged in several deep ragged breaths. She could still feel his lips and teeth on her neck, his nose nuzzling behind her ear. Gently she eased his shoulders off her, until he took some of his weight onto his elbows, his mouth moving from her neck to her jaw and onto her lips kiss after gossamer soft kiss followed.

"Michael," she breathed his name in between kisses.

He was still within her, unwilling to leave the comfort of her body.

"Michael…"She lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, bringing his gaze to her face. "Let's take this ta tha bedroom, luv."

He nodded and reluctantly withdrew, pulling her to her feet as he rose up. "It's not like ya ta go fer comfort." His hands never left her body, fingers stroking a line between her breasts down to her stomach and then lower still.

"Tha floor is wet an' I don' wan' ta catch cold," she replied. Catching hold of the wrist of one hand, she led him out of the bathroom and along the hall to one of the two guest rooms. The assignment may or may not have been blown, but she knew what Michael wanted and needed after all the stress and adrenaline contained in his body no longer served a purpose.

He pushed her down onto the bed, laying down next to her, his hands gliding over her skin as if she was something truly special. Parting her lips, she yielded to the kiss that followed.

()

The whirr and rattling bang of electronic garage doors being opened and closed woke Michael with a start. He sat up in bed and stared around for one brief second, confused by his surroundings and by the nagging ache emanating from above his left temple. Then it all came flooding back to him and he was instantly on high alert.

He was naked and alone in a large comfortable bed covered by a duck down duvet in a house which belonged to the Provisional IRA's premier expert in torture. If that wasn't bad enough, he had spent most of the night wrapped in said torturer's little sister's arms.

Downstairs, an inner door slammed and he could just make out the muffled sound of several strange voices filtering up the stairs from the ground floor. Fiona had said her brothers were away, had they come back?

The thought of the Glenanne boys in a kitchen full of sharp implements made his blood run cloud. _Shit!_ He shivered.

Kicking off the covers he dashed to the door, opening it just a crack so he could see into the hallway. The voices were clearer; he could make out at least two individual speakers, but they were too indistinct to recognize.

_Where the hell was Fiona?_ He hadn't a stitch of clothing with him and no weapons to defend himself. He cast an eye back around the room. Hopefully, she would keep whoever was downstairs away long enough for him to work out how to extract himself from his present predicament.

Swallowing down his fear, he moved rather unsteadily across to a beautifully craved set of drawers. With a bit of luck, there would be something he could wear in one of the drawers or in the matching built-in wardrobe on the opposite wall.

He was sure both Sean and Seamus were fine with his and Fiona's living arrangements. He thought Colin was, too. But finding him as an unwelcome guest in Liam's private sanctum... If he was lucky, they'd _just_ string him up.

Swearing under his breath, Michael searched the drawers for anything he could use to cover himself... Anything but the bed sheet which was beginning to look like his only choice.

Hearing the rapid pad of feet on the stairs, Michael fell back from the door and started to pull the sheet from the bed. If it became absolutely necessary, he would go out through the window or if he had to face the wrath of the Glenanne brothers, at least he wouldn't have to do it completely naked.

_I swear to God I will never sleep in the buff again!_

The thought flashed through his mind as the door swung open and Fiona breezed into the room holding a large canvas bag. He stared at her wide eyed, his heart thumping in his chest, while she looked calm and relaxed and strangely pleased with herself. It was a look she normally wore after blowing something big to pieces.

"I thought ya'd still be sleeping, I've been back ta Jeannie's to return har car and collect some clothes fer ya." She dropped the bag on the bed.

"Fiona, whose har?" he hissed out the question in his Irish accent, while peering out into the hall.

"Who?" She treated him a puzzled frown and then she smiled in understanding. "It's tha telly... I thought ya'd be interested..." She paused for dramatic effect, grinning at the thought of the good news she was about to impart. "Sean Monaghan was picked up by the Ulster constabulary early this morning an' a warehouse was raided and a large quantity of explosives wa' found... But thot's not tha best bit."

He stared back at her, stunned at the speed MI6 had moved on the men they had been tracking. Even when Fiona's arms curled around his neck and her lips played across his chin, he remained distracted.

"Tha best bit war hearing thot John Kelly an' another man, Luke Smith, wa' blown ta pieces, tryin' ta escape wid one o' thar bombs. It's all over tha news. Apparently it wa' a joint mission by various intelligence agencies."

_They must have got something good off the bugs after he had been forced to leave the scene._

"Michael?"

He dragged his mind back to the present and the woman who was pressed up against his naked body. They had succeeded in eliminating the RIRA threat and the independent commission meeting was still two days away. He grinned at her, pulling her tighter against his chest peppering her face with kisses.

This was the best outcome he could have hoped for. Fiona Glenanne had been the primary asset. Without her input, her knowledge of the area and the people, the mission would have failed. Langley had to see her worth now and Chambers, the uptight British intelligence officer, could no longer deny her commitment to the peace process.

"Are they saying anything about why they moved so quickly?" he asked, as he released her to open the bag and began get dressed. He had to get hold of Chambers; they would be starting the debriefs soon and he wanted to make sure Fiona got the credit she was due.

"No," she answered quietly

"I have to get back to Belfast. Report in, find out what happened." He had to call Dan Siebels to make sure Langley knew how useful his asset had been throughout the mission. "I need to speak with Chambers. There'll be a debriefing. I could be gone all day."

He glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed and frowned when he saw the time. "It's ten AM! I shoulda reported in hours ago! You sh-"

His words faded when he saw her smile disappearing and her expression becoming cold and detached. _Why wasn't she as happy as he was?_

"Finish getting dressed, Michael," Fiona spoke coolly. "I'll take ya back ta tha city. I promise I won't try ta follow ya ta yar secret meeting. I have ta see somebody anyway."

Before he could ask what she meant, she spun around and headed for the door. Frowning, he finished getting dressed and rushed out to follow her, but then caught sight of his reflection. Slamming to a halt, he stared in horror at what he saw.

The left side of his face was bruised, the skin of his forehead and cheek marred by a marbling of yellow and green. But higher up, his dark tousled hair was missing a huge chunk just above his ear.

He wasn't a vain man, but he liked looking good and, when he had the opportunity he enjoyed wearing expensive designer suits. But his hair was– he shook his head. For years, the length of his hair had been dictated by the Army and later on by the CIA and the missions he was sent on.

In fact, it was only in the last eighteen months that his last buzz cut after a long stay in hospital had finally grown out. But at least they had shaved his entire head. _What the hell was he supposed to do with this?_

He gingerly ran his fingers over the lump and stitches. He loved the feel of Fiona's fingers combing through his hair, grabbing it and pulling, almost tearing it, when they made love, but there was nothing to love about this!

"Fi! Fiona!" he called out. "My hair, what the hell did you do to it?"

"Wha'?" she called back.

"I can't face Chambers like this. I – I need you to fix the mess you've made." He continued to examine the damage, realizing his only choice was going to be to take some clippers on it.

"You had a hole in your thick head." Fiona came back into the bedroom. "And I did nae hear ya complainin' las' night."

He stood up straight and frowned when she handed him a plain black woolen hat.

"Here, put thot on." Her frown now matched his own and her look of disappointment at his ingratitude tore at him.

"Fiona, I'm sorry... I didn't mean it." He didn't want to fight. Not now when things were so close to being how he wanted them.

"Yar hair will grow back, Michael."

"I know." He forced a smile. "We should go. The sooner I meet up with Chambers the better." Pulling the hat on, being careful of his stitches, he picked up the empty bag and followed her downstairs.

The news was still on the TV; The Chief Constable giving an interview to a host of reporters about the successful arrest of several Real IRA terrorists and the foiling of a planned bomb campaign. He knew neither he nor Fiona would ever get an official recognition for their work, but that didn't matter. Even though it had meant he ended up floundering through sewage, they had helped to take out the bad guys and potentially saved a lot of lives.

Catching his reflection in a glass panel in the kitchen door, Michael smiled ruefully. He was going to have to find a barbers before his debriefing.

And from now, he would be making sure he always had pajama bottoms or shorts or _something_ on hand, especially in enemy territory.

And he was also going to make sure that he never ever let Fiona Glenanne cut his hair again.


	8. Derry Feburary '98

**WHO WE ONCE WERE**

**A/N: _First of all thank you for the reviews for this series of short stories, I'm sorry I don't get the time to send out personal replies that often. _**

**_Secondly this is the story based about the memory Michael used to hold back the flashbacks in Raindrops. It is set in the time before Fiona knew he was an American Spy._ **

_**And thirdly I want to send out special thanks to my good friends Jedi Skysinger and Amanda Hawthorn who have read thru all the draft versions before I completed the whole thing. Also another thanks to Jedi Skysinger for finding the time to BETA for me.**_

**Derry, February 98**

**On the road to Derry.**

The Glenanne family's old Land Rover Defender was one of the bane's of Fiona's existence. Though not quite as bad as the Series 2 Land Rover that Sean favored for transporting weapons, it was still noisy, uncomfortable and slow and there was always a damp musty smell, which got worse when you turned the heater on.

It's only good features were the heavy vehicle had bullet proof panels and bullet resistant glass in the windows and, to deal with all the extra weight, the suspension had been upgraded, which all in all made it an ideal vehicle to transport heavy or vast supplies of weaponry around the Irish countryside.

Looking over to the driver of the vehicle, she felt a warm glow in her heart, which as she continued to stare spread lower, heating her core and turning her legs to jelly. Sean was supposed to be accompanying her on this gun deal. But he'd had prior commitments, so she had convinced him, against his better judgement, to let her take Michael McBride with her instead.

She tried to conceal the wicked smile which desperately wanted to break free. This was to be their first time alone, truly alone, without one of her brothers in shouting distance a_nd she had made plans._

The job had come to Sean through Patrick Keenan, one of the shot callers in the newly formed Real IRA. The group had broken away from the Provo a few months earlier and had big plans for lots of violence and destroying the on-going peace process.

She had been only too happy when approached by the Provisional IRA Executive Council to go undercover and cause this new group as much trouble as she could. After all she had been through in the last five years all she wanted was a chance of peace for her homeland.

Keenan wanted her to drive to Derry and take delivery of a stockpile of new guns, rocket launchers and ammunition for the RIRA's first big campaign. She was to drive up to Derry, meet with Brendon Callum, who ran a deep sea fishing fleet from Derry Harbor, and he would take her to the arms dealer making the sale.

Once they identified who was selling guns to the Real IRA, they were to complete the deal and drive away. Then her brother Liam would send some men over to treat the arms dealer to a "Provo party" while she aged the firing pins in the weapons to encourage them to fail before handing them over to the radical breakaway organization.

The only problem with the arrangement was that Michael McBride sympathized with the Real IRA cause. He hadn't joined up with the group yet, but he was skirting around the edges and was always eager to offer his assistance to any bit of mischief that came his way.

"_I'm pretty sure I kin trust him,"_ she thought as she looked over at him again, biting down on her lower lip. "_Yes, I'm almost positive if he found out whot wa' goin' on, he would stand by me side." _She felt guilty about lying to him about where her loyalties lay, but until she could be sure about him, she couldn't risk telling him the truth.

"Ya see sommit ya like?" McBride risked taking his eyes off the icy road long enough to smirk in her direction.

_God help me, but I love thot smart ass smile._

"I see a cocky Kilkenny cat who should be keepin' his eyes on tha road," she retorted, punching his arm lightly. "Ya best put yar foot down, McBride. War supposed ta be in Derry befer four."

"Four? I thought tha meetin' was set fer ten?" The smirk was gone now replaced by a frown.

"_Oh, Jaysus, wha' am I gonna do if he says he don't wanta stay wid me?" _Gulping, she prepared herself for the worst... "_Men didn't like forward women; they like ta be tha ones who made all tha running." _But between her brothers' glares and silent threats of bodily harm and McBride's own strange sense of honor, she was going die an old maid if she didn't take matters into her own hands.

"Fi?" he questioned again, but his eyes were back on the road.

"Tha meetin' _is_ set fer ten PM, but it's set fer ten on _Thursday_."

The Defender slowed and he turned to look at her and then back at the road, his eyes going wide as he worked out what she was saying.

"It's Tuesday," he spoke flatly and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Wha' -?"

"I booked us a room at tha Brayside Inn. it's on tha road ta Derry... I thought, I mean, we..." she floundered.

"It's a lovely thought, Fiona," he answered softly. Taking one hand off the wheel, he stroked the back of his hand over her cheek. "Two whole nights alone?" he grinned.

"Two long nights an' tha days, too," she grinned back. "We don't have ta clear out til four on Thursday afternoon... I paid extra ta book out late."

His hand went from her cheek to cradle the back of her head and she found herself drawn closer until he could kiss her. "Jaysus, wha' would I do wit' out ya, ya darlin' girl? Ya thought o' everythin', haven't ya?"

"Ya dinnae mind me making tha bookin'?"

"Whot's thar ta mind, girl?" He grinned again and she noted the slight flush to his cheeks before she sat back in her own seat with a wide grin on her own lips.

Sean had come straight to her when he'd been told of their first assignment for the fledging radical group. They were to pick up a big supply of weapons which would be the mainstay of the organizations armoury.

As soon as he had sat down facing her over their mother's kitchen table, she had seen that he was torn between duty to the Cause and his family duties. Rosanna's parents were over from England to see their fourteen month old granddaughter and, besides that, Rosanna was pregnant with their second child and the baby, a boy this time, was due in the next couple of weeks.

"I'm gonna have ta tell 'em sommit," he had growled as their mother had placed a mug of tea in front of him before silently leaving the room. "Oh, I know they'll understand, but..."

"But, yer scared Maura Flanagan will buy out tha whole stock fram Mothercare again if yer not thar to stop her," she'd reminded her brother. Shortly after the birth of his first child, Rosanna's mother had arrived and proceeded to buy up nearly every baby item in the Belfast branch of the popular baby shop.

Sean had chuckled ruefully at the memory of his mother-in-law and her _"nothing's too good for her grandbabies_" attitude.

"Why don' I take Michael wit' me?" she'd asked innocently.

"McBride? Ar' ya sure, Sis? I mean, wha' d'we know abou' him?"

"He spends most o' his evenings sat in yar living room an' when he's not thar, he's down at tha pub, playin' darts."

Sean had stared at her, his fierce blue eyes fixed on her face. "Ya like him, dontcha?"

She'd nodded and he'd smiled back. "Ya be careful wit' him... I swear if ya make me regret this, I'll kill him an' I'll tell Liam thot ya refuse ta listen ta a word I said."

"So, yer alright wit' Michael takin' yar place?"

"Aye, just, ya know, be careful."

As soon as Sean had left to drive back to his own home, she had rushed to check that her mother was still busy out in the laundry room and had then grabbed up the telephone book to search for suitable hotels near Derry.

Thinking about what was to come, Fiona turned her attention back to the man at her side. He was concentrating solely on driving now. The roads were becoming more treacherous as the snow fall became heavier by the minute. She found her eyes gravitating to the outline of his slightly furrowed brow, the scaring about his eye and the fullness of his bottom lip.

It was while she was staring at his mouth that she saw his lips move as he uttered a curse and the heavy vehicle began to slow.

Glancing out of the windshield, she peered along the dark expanse of road and in the distance spotted the pinprick flashing orange dots of hazard warning lights on the cars ahead. Her heart sunk. If there had been an accident on the road to the north, it could mean they would be stuck for hours and they weren't even half way to Derry.

"We should turn around," Michael muttered. "Give -"

"Turn off." She nudged his arm and pointed to a lane on the left hand side of the road. "Follow thot lane ta tha end an' then take a right." Looking out of the window, she had realized where they were. _This was fate she was sure of it. She wasn't ready to give up on their quiet break away together. It just wouldn't be at a hotel with central heating and clean sheets on the bed._

"Wa're not goin' ta get far on these back roads." He gave her a questioning look as he did as she bid and then pulled over to put the Defender into four wheel drive before setting off again.

"It's not far, jus' a coupla miles... Ya wa' boastin' ya could drive anythin' anywhere last night. Ya lost yar bottle, Michael McBride?" she taunted him.

Only the night before he had been boasting about his driving prowess, how he had escaped from the police in a high speed chase through London during an armed robbery gone wrong.

"No," he denied he'd lost his nerve and the Defender picked up speed, only for him to slow again as they nearly took out a stone wall when the wheels of the 4x4 slipped on an icy turn in the road.

In the dark on the slippery, narrow, unlit lanes which were fast becoming covered with a thick layer of snow, she directed him to a place she hadn't visited for years. As they came to a stop in a ramshackle farmyard, her heart skipped a beat. Before he could question her about the place, she jumped out and made her way to the front door of the stone built farmhouse.

_This had been home_. She'd spent the first nine years of her life here playing out among the chickens and ducks and in the spring spending whole nights out in the large barn, watching as the sheep lambed and helping to feed the babies which were too weak or neglected to feed themselves. Pushing open the heavy door, she stepped inside and in the darkness she didn't see all the neglect, dirt and cobwebs or the cracks in the walls and the rumble strewn across the floor.

She saw a big fire blazing in the fireplace and an old patterned rug in front of the hearth. To the left of the fire was a wooden rocking chair where her mammy sat in the evenings with her knitting bag on the floor containing great big balls of wool and the sound of her knitting needles clacking away, a constant background noise behind the sound of her brothers squabbling and fighting and her Da sat around the kitchen table with his comrades plotting their next campaign.

A wide bright beam from a flash light broke through her reverie and she stared into the light at the man who stood in the door way. She smiled wistfully at the questioning look he was sending her as he took in the cold dark ruin which had once been a loving home.

"We'll stay har til tha mornin'," she told him firmly. "Thar's a farm a bit further along tha lane. It belongs ta a cousin; we'll call thar tomorra."

"Why not go straight thar now?" he asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Cuz I wan' ta show ya this place." She turned away to run her hand over the dust and dirt covered oak beam which had once been the mantle-piece. When this had been their home, the beam had been kept polished to a high sheen and photographs and knick knacks had adorned the wide shelf.

"This wa' our home befer me daddy wa' taken. We lived har til I wa' nine years old. Then Pat Junior said we'd be better off livin' in tha city,"_ s_he told him, speaking more to herself than him. She pointed to the spot next to the fire. "Me Mammy hadda rocking chair right here by tha fire...After havin' a bath, me and Claire used ta sit in front o' tha fire ta dry our hair and she would brush out tha tangles."

She gasped as he suddenly stepped to her side, his hand reaching up to stroke her cheek. His expression showed his disappointment at her choice of lodging for the night. "Fiona, tha place is a -"

"Come wid me." She took him by the hand and together they explored the ground floor before she took him to the rickety staircase which they climbed cautiously, pausing at every creaking groan on the way up.

In what had been her parents bedroom, she stood by the rotted window frame and pointed out into the darkness.

"I wa' four or five at tha time. Mammy stood at this window an' fired on tha policemen tha had come fer me Da and Pat Junior. Mammy said it ware sommit about somebody blowin' a hole in tha side o' tha Ulster Bank in Lurgan. Anyway, she held 'em out thar, not lettin' them get outta tha car til me daddy and brother got away. Mammy had Colin hide tha shotgun in tha attic, befer tha policemen broke tha door down. When they couldnae find tha gun, they ransacked the house." She smiled as she wandered around the room, remembering better days. "One o' them broke me favorite doll, so I sank me teeth inta his ankle. It took me Mammy an' Seamus ta get me off him."

"Fi, I think we should be goin' if ya -" She stopped his words with a kiss, surprising herself at the passion she threw into it, her mouth claiming his as her fingers tangled in his long, dark hair.

When the kiss ended, they were both a little out of breath. Her legs trembled as she boldly pressed her body against his, forcing him back until his shoulders hit the bedroom wall. The feel of his hard muscular body yielding to her demands caused her heart to leap and her stomach to clench as butterflies took flight in her belly.

His large hands reached up and his strong supple fingers combed her hair back from her face. "Fiona, if Sean finds out war not in Derry, or wherever ya tol' him we'd be -"

_He wa' concerned abou' being here alone wit' her. S_he thought it was sweet that he was worried about what Sean, or more likely Liam, would say or do. But this sort of thing had been happening since she had hit puberty and it was was becoming tiresome.

Any boy or man who showed the faintest bit of interest in her had to get past all of her brothers first. Liam was the worse of the bunch. Her eldest surviving sibling had a way about him. He never shouted or blustered but, especially in those early years, he had sent several young suitors back home in tears just by staring at them.

"This is why I dinnae tell ya abou' tha hotel befer. I knew me brudders would ruin it fer us. Sean doesn't know whar we are tonight... If he's thinking abou' us at all, he'll be thinkin' I'm at home wit' our Mam, an' yer in yar pokey little bedsit." She leaned in again, her teeth inches from his chin. "Now, stop wonderin' wha' me family is getting' up ta, an' start thinkin' about wha' we can get up ta... all...on...our...own." Her hands wriggled their way under his jumper and undershirt to the bare skin of his torso.

He stared at her a little wide eyed as he worked out what exactly she was offering. Then he smiled and she watched the doubt slide away. His hands glided down from her face along her arms until they reached the hem of her thick cable knit jumper.

"So thot's why ya wan' ta say here is it, luv? I was beginnin' ta wonder if ya ever went anywhere alone." She gasped as his hands slipped under her top and settled on her waist, his fingers splaying out so his thumbs rubbed on the underwire of her bra. He looked around again, staring out of the window at the fluffy white snowflakes which were falling heavier by the minute. "We could make a run fer tha main road an' try ta get -"

"I want ta stay here wit' ya." She looked up at him, staring into his blue eyes and willing him to understand how much this meant to her. "This place, I know it's a ruin, but it wa' me home."

Finally with a long sigh, he nodded in agreement. "Okay, jus' fer ya. We'll stay har."

"Thank ya..." She smiled and pushed him away. "I'll go get tha tarp and tha blankets fram tha car... Ya find us some fire wood and' try ta make it cozy. Thar's a pile o' old newspapers in tha kitchen. I saw 'em earlier. They'll make good kindling."

She went out to the Land Rover and sorted through all the junk that had been left in the back until she found a large folded sheet of blue tarpaulin and four old woollen blankets. When she went back inside, she saw Michael hadn't wasted any time. He had cleared the area in front of the fire place and arranged the few bits of old broken furniture to make walls to their little den.

"Ya've been busy," she commented, gesturing to the start of what promised to be a roaring fire.

"Ah used ta be a boy scout," he answered as he took the tarp and spread it over the hard concrete floor.

"A boy scout?" She snorted, shaking out the blankets and, after placing two on the tarp for them to sit on she dropped to the floor with the others in a pile next to her. "I jus' cannae see ya in tha uniform."

"Me ma thought it would keep me outta trouble." He dropped down next to her, holding his hands out to warm them in front of the blazing fire he had built a few minutes earlier.

"Oh, I think ya wa' born ta cause trouble, Michael McBride. I kin see it in yar eyes." She half turned and was instantly in his arms.

They tumbled backwards with her ending up above him, laying half on top of him, her hands urgently journeying from his tangled mop of dark hair, to his lightly stubble covered cheeks and across the expanse of his chest. It had been months, many many months, since she had been completely alone with any man who wasn't a kinsman and she had been waiting for an opportunity like this since shortly after meeting Mr. McBride.

The stranger from Kilkenny and parts further south was an enigma to her, but he was definitely masculine. Their make out sessions had left her in no doubt about that. But he frequently deferred to her requests and appeared to value her opinion when she gave it. He had even, much to Sean's disgust, cooked a meal for them all _and_ he also allowed her to drive his car when there was nothing wrong with his own arms or legs. Armand had always treated her as a valued associate in business, but only Michael McBride truly treated her as an equal.

His hands were interlinked with hers, stilling their exploration. "Wha's yar rush, luv? We have all night, an' tha fire is jus' startin' ta warm up tha room."

Then, moving slowly, he let go of her hands and eased her arms out of her thick padded jacket. "Tha's better, but still not right."

She leant forward and nipped at his kissed bruised bottom lip. While he cradled her in his arms, his hands slid round to cup her buttocks, lifting her up until she was fully on top of him. She could feel his growing passion as their hips aligned and she rocked against him, reveling in the soft growl that spilled from his lips.

They kissed, their tongues locked in a dance, as their actions became more ardent and all the while she writhed on top of him, her mind lost in delicious pleasure. Then, as his hand palmed her left breast, squeezing the soft pliant flesh hidden beneath a jumper and a lace bra, she froze like a rabbit caught in the beam of a poacher's lamp. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as all of a sudden the moment became very real.

What they were doing now was nothing they hadn't done on Sean's couch, while her brother was out with his wife. But now she was completely alone with him and nobody knew where she was or who she was with.

What if he wasn't what or who thought she thought he was? What if he was rough or wanted to do something she didn't? Would he -? She was all too aware what some men were capable of and she wasn't foolish enough to think she would be able to fight off somebody as strong as Michael McBride if he decided to force himself on her.

His hand moved away, reaching up to tuck a few stray tendrils of hair behind her ear. His eyes searched her face as his thumb brushed over her lips.

"Fiona?" he questioned softly, his voice a little hoarse.

"I- it's..." She bit down on her bottom lip. "It's been a while..." She told him a half truth, nobody outside her family knew what had occurred at her graduation party when she had been targeted by a piece of UDF loyalist scum.

He looked up at her with an expression akin to worship. "Me too, luv... Let's take it slow, huh?"

The kiss that followed was soft and teasing, his hands slid under her jumper to gently ghost up along her spine. She wasn't used to this sort of tenderness and, from the way he was shaking, neither was he. The kiss lingered until she felt the clasp on her bra spring free. For a moment, she stiffened and instantly he stopped moving.

"Here, sweetheart..." He shifted so she lay on the blanket with him at her side, his palm resting flat on her stomach. "Ya need ta relax." He kissed her again, softly and slowly, as his hands skimmed over her torso.

She let him remove her jumper and her bra and lay before him, watching his face as he stared in awe at her body. "Yer beautiful, a truly beautiful thing." His fingers lightly traced their way from the flat plane of her belly over her ribs to circle first one raised nipple and then the other.

She was entranced as his tongue flickered out to wet his lips before he lowered his head to kiss each pink bud in turn. The touch of his mouth on her sensitive mounds sent a flood of warmth straight to her core and she let out a long moan, as her hands reached to cradle his head, holding him in place as he mouthed and sucked on her flesh.

He lavished her breasts, neck, ears and lips with so much attention, the rest of her body ached in jealousy. She yearned for him, to feel his bare skin against hers, to see him fully. Her hands could bear it no longer and of their own accord pulled his jumper and and under shirt off in one go.

She had seen him bare chested before, but this... Gazing up, she let her eyes wander over his lean muscular frame and the sites of old scars, some of which he had told her about, others he claimed were a secret until another day.

Her mouth watered as he removed the belt from his jeans and popped the steel button on the waistband undone before lowering himself back down beside her. His lips brushing her cheek before returning to worship her lips.

She let her hands glide over his chest and torso, reacquainting herself with the lines of his muscles. It was just like he had said, they had all night and there was no possibility of any interruptions. As her confidence grew, her hand went lower until it dipped inside his jeans and rubbed over his engorged length.

With a deep shuddering sigh, Michael wriggled his jeans down over his hips along with his green boxers. Taking her hand, he placed it around his manhood and closed his eyes.

"D'ya like thot?" she whispered in his ear, as her hand closed around him, her thumb pressing over his tip. "I really am a lucky girl, though I told ya thot once befer, did I not?"

He gave a strangled moan and bucked up in her hand, his own hands feverishly working on loosening her jeans, until his fingers found the edge of her lace thong and slid into her moist center.

She wasn't sure how long they took, touching each other in their most intimate places, before they ended up completely naked in front of the roaring fire. Time meant nothing to her. All she was aware of was the love being lavished upon her body as Michael took his time to explore every inch of her. She had never felt like this before, or been treated this way. His lips, mouth, teeth and tongue devoured her while his hands readied each part of her body as if it was the next course in a banquet.

When he finally slid inside her, it was so perfect. She was already floating on a sea of ecstasy. His thrusts went deep, long and deliciously slow and all the while he continued to tease the shell of her ear and her neck, nipping and sucking on her skin, driving her wild in every possible way. Gradually, he began to move harder and faster, their breathes synchronized as they toppled over the edge together.

Opening her eyes, she was suddenly very aware of him looming over her, his weight pinning her down, their bodies still joined together, his breath tickling her neck. He slowly raised his head and then took some of his weight onto his elbows; his face still a mask of post-coital bliss. When he looked at her, really looked at her, his eyes shining bright and an almost giddy smile had spread across his lips.

"Ar' ya happy? Did I make ya happy, then?" This had been different than anything she had experienced before. She felt a deep connection to him and she was unsure what to do about it.

"Yes, luv, ya did," he agreed passionately. "Ya made me happier than I've ever been in me entire life."

And she knew somehow that he meant it with utter sincerity. She lifted her hands from where they pressed on his chest, as if to push him away, letting them curl over his shoulders and then comb through his hair until they fell slack above her head. She was for the first time leaving herself unguarded, surrendering herself to him completely.

She was obviously doing something very right as she felt him begin to stiffen and grow inside her. He lowered his face so his lips could lay tender kisses over her forehead, and hairline. It wasn't long before she could take no more of laying placidly. She wanted him, every inch of him, and with that she raised her arms to hold him tight as he drew deeper into her warm, welcoming depths. In what seemed like no time at all and yet somehow a blissful forever, they were tumbling into ecstasy again with exhaustion not far away. They fell asleep naked, wrapped in each others' arms with their legs entwined.

Some time in the early morning, she woke shivering as the fire died out. Trying to free her limbs without waking him, she reached for the blankets which had slipped from their bodies.

As soon as she moved, he woke. His hand which lay on her waist tightened against her to stop her leaving. "Whar ar' ya off ta?"

"Nowhere, am cold,"

He rose up then, covering her body with his, his elbows coming down near her shoulders, his lips tenderly kissing her neck and face, making her writhe underneath him as he quickly hardened against her.

"Yer beautiful, d'ya know thot?" He told her and she smiled up at him. Stretching her arms over her head, she let them go slack and relaxed under him, while his body and his manhood became anything but relaxed.

"An' ya have tha' gift o' tha gab. I bet yar mammy held ya upside down ta kiss tha blarney stone as soon as ya learned ta talk." Feeling wicked, she lifted her legs hooking her ankles around his ass and drew him into her again.

_God help me, I cannae get enough of him, she thought, s_ighing at the feeling of fullness. She wasn't sure what is was about Michael McBride, but how they were now, alone and with him buried deep inside of her, she wanted to stay there forever.

Overwhelmed with happiness, she stiffened under him and then ,with a sudden surge of strength, she flipped him off and landed on top of him, grinning like a Cheshire cat at his look of confusion.

"If yer gonna be doing tha driving ta Derry, through all tha snow, it's only fair I do me share now."

She shifted again and sheathed him in her warmth. Leaning forward, her hands rested on his shoulders, her long red gold hair hung like a curtain about them. As she moved, rocking back and forth, her breasts hung before his mouth, an open invitation to him. Her spontaneity shocked him; she could see it on written on his features, a look of wide eyed wonder, before she yelped as he flipped her onto her back again. His mouth closed over hers to stop any complaint she might think to utter.

"I don' mind _driving,_ luv." he growled playfully into her ear.

What followed, as they tumbled across the floor making love as they fought a mock battle, left them both sweating, panting and grinning like a pair of idiots. It only ended when they crashed into the faux fort Michael had constructed around them last night, scattering the assortment of broken wood and causing them both to laugh aloud.

Later, once they had recovered, they got dressed. But even then their eyes constantly flickered to each other. She found herself reaching for him when he moved more than a couple of steps away from her side and she was sure he kept finding excuses for his fingertips to brush against her skin or play with her hair.

Outside, the snow was thick and crunchy under foot, but the old Defender trundled through it all without trouble. As McBride drove, Fiona's hand rested on his thigh, feeling the warmth emanating through his jeans. The gun deal for the RIRA was far from her thoughts. All she had in mind for her future was a hotel room with a king size bed.

"Let's not bother me, cousin. Let's head straight fer Derry instead," she told him with a grin.

"And thot hotel room," he smiled back as the Defender turned onto the main road and picked up speed.


	9. Belfast March '98

_**WHO WE ONCE WERE.**_

**A/N: A quick... okay I'll be honest... a longish word about the dates used in this and other stories connected to the time line used here. Those of you who have seen S7.02 now know the year which Michael and Fiona met in the story canon was given as 2001. **

**However, in WWOW, and the other stories of both mine, Jedi Skysinger's and Jedi's Pal which share the same back story for our favorite couple, these have already been set in another time line previously developed using the limited information available from the shows earlier seasons. **

**We chose the very end of '97 through '98 with Michael leaving in '99. We came to this conclusion mostly from the clues found in the S2 episode 15 called Sins of Omission. Samantha Keyes, Michael's former fiancé, informs Michael that her son Charlie is nine years old. She does this in the hope that Michael will believe the boy is his son and help her rescue Charlie from the clutches of Tyler Brennen.**

**Michael tells Fiona he worked with Samantha in '97 and things moved quickly. He later left Samantha because, he said, he couldn't marry her when he loved somebody else.**

**Season 1 starts Dec 2007 (it's Christmas time) and Season 2 picks up where S1 ended in Summer of 2008. So if Michael believes Charlie is nine, he must have last slept with Samantha in 1999 depending which month Ep15 was set. He also tells Madeline that Samantha hasn't been in his life in a decade.**

**So that means sometime between the job in '97 when he met and got in engaged to Samantha and 1999 at the latest when he left her, Michael met and fell in love with Fiona Glenanne.**

**With all this in mind, 1997-1999 makes perfect sense for Michael being in Ireland, as the US government was involved during this time period in helping to negotiate the peace process and it was also the time the Real IRA appeared as a viable threat. Giving ample reason for an American spy to be working with the British Intelligence services MI5/MI6.**

**As these dates run through and connect many of our stories we have chosen to keep to this particular time line rather than the canon date on the show.**

_**Now where were we?**_

**Dublin March 1998. **

The Sunday before Mother's Day.

When Fiona Glenanne yawned, stretched and then rolled over onto her side, she found herself staring into the deep blue eyes of her lover. She swore every time Michael McBride looked at her the way he was right that second, she lost a little bit more of her heart to him.

"Hey..." His voice sounded rough and still husky from sleep.

She smiled softly back at him and stroked the palm of her hand over his bristle covered cheek as he inched closer to her, one of his legs teasing her own legs apart.

"I have ta get up soon," she murmured, shifting her hips slightly and then stilled as he moved his leg so her already moist center was riding against his thigh. The friction sent out a wave of pure bliss and she made no effort to stop the moan of pleasure which was released from her partially opened lips.

Ever since they had moved their relationship on to the next level, it seemed like they couldn't keep their hands off each other; it was as if they were both possessed. It didn't matter where they were, or come to that, what they were doing. A stray brush of fingertips against clothing or skin and all other thoughts flew out of the window. For the last week now, they had barely left her flat and, when they did go out, it wasn't long before the urge to return became nearly overwhelming.

"So, ya'll be late, ya can tell 'em ya got held up." His lips were on her neck, licking and sucking along her throat, while his fingers glided up and down her back, drawing her even closer.

"Michael... I – I have – ta get up. Me Mammy -" She wriggled and weakly pushed him away in a half hearted attempt to break free. But her body was already responding to his touch. _God, I cannae get enough o' this man. _Her fingers curled and gripped his hair as his kisses trailed lower.

"Let's leave yar Mammy outta dis, luv," he mumbled into her chest, just before his mouth engulfed her right breast, sucking on her soft pliant mound, his tongue flicking over her nipple.

Her moans and gasps of pleasure grew louder and she arched into his touch, her hips grinding down onto his leg while her fingers scraped over his head, holding him to her, and all the while a warmth was spreading through her lower body. Then, just as she thought she could take no more, his mouth was gone. But only as far as her other breast, as he lavished the same attention there, his stubble covered cheeks rubbing against her sensitive flesh and adding to the euphoria which was whiting out all thoughts of leaving the bed and her man.

She writhed under him as he settled his body between her legs, forcing them further a part with his thighs. She could feel the tip of his manhood pressing lightly against where she ached for him to be.

"Easy, luv." He ceased moving, his hot breath softly cooling her ravaged breasts. "Ya wan' me ta stop?" He rocked his hips against hers, teasing her with a hint of what was to come.

Letting out a soft moan of frustration, she brought her legs up and wrapped them tightly around his waist, capturing him in a vice like grip. "Ya try stoppin' now, Michael McBride, an' I'll knock ya inta next week... ahhhh, ya lovely, lovely man." Slowly, inch by inch, he slid inside her, filling her up until they were as close as could be.

"Don't go," he pleaded softly. "They won't miss ya, not this once." He pinned her to the bed, dropping enough of his weight onto her to trap her beneath him while keeping up the slow gentle thrusts, as if determined to delay her as long as possible. "We can spend all day har."

"Achhh, ya don' know me family very well, do ya McBride? Ya wan' Sean or, mebbe Liam, ta come knockin' our door down cuz I dinnae turn up fer Sunday dinner?"

He paused and the look on his face made her chuckle before turning to a gasp as he began to move faster, driving into her. She reached up, pulling his head down so she could claim his lips. "I'll – be – back - t'night, we'll - have - all night. Whatever ya - want."

She pressed her mouth tightly against his, their teeth clashing together and their tongues entwined, as she held him as close to her as she could. Tightening the grip of her thighs about his waist, she lifted her hips to alter the angle and, all of a sudden, they were both there, tumbling together into a sea of pleasure totally out of control. His name fell from her lips in cries of ecstasy as her sweet relief finally came, a mere second before he joined her.

Collapsing down on top of her, he peppered her face and neck with hundreds of butterfly soft kisses, declaring her to be the most wonderful and beautiful woman he had ever known.

Ten minutes later, she reluctantly left the warmth of his arms to prepare for her day, padding naked across the bedroom to the bathroom. Then she turned the taps on in the shower and waited for the water to warm up.

Less then a minute after she stepped under the cascading water of her shower, she heard the sound of creaking floorboards, letting her know Michael was on his way to join her.

This was fast becoming a ritual they shared. Without uttering a sound, she made room for him to join her in the small narrow bath tub. Then, with his body pressed up behind her, he reached around to take the shower gel out of her hand.

Slowly, he applied the gel, his hands gliding over her body and massaging the fragrant liquid to every inch of her. Then, as the soap was washed away by the water, he set about washing her hair, the feel of his fingers against her scalp releasing all her tension and worries.

With the shampoo washed away, he leaned forward, his lips ghosting over her neck and along her clavicle, laying down gossamer kisses until he made his way back to the shell of her ear.

"Thar's still time ta change yar mind," he breathed the words huskily into her ear.

"I can't."

She sighed and sagged back against him as his hand slid across her belly and settled between legs, his long fingers seeking out her still sensitive core.

"Are ya sure I cannae convince ya?" The tone in his voice and long fingers circling and rubbing over her clit reduced her legs to rubber.

She was overtaken by her orgasm before she could answer. Her head falling back onto his shoulder and only his hold around her waist keeping her on her feet, he relentless kept going until with a ragged scream she could take no more.

Gasping and shaking, she turned in his arms, desperate to keep full contact with him. _Oh Jayzuz, __he's__gonna be the death o' me._

She clung onto him, her arms about his neck as he lifted her up and then climbed out of the bath.

_This was utterly crazy. In the last month, they had spent more time wrapped in each others arms than out trying to stop the Real IRAs campaign of terror. Only a week ago, Sean had warned her the executive council was getting angry with her behavior. McBride was an unknown. He still hadn't presented himself to any of the council members and he was still spouting hardcore republican sentiments out in public, which suited her cover as an operative disenchanted with the peace process, but it was making the army's council members nervous. _

_She had a few concerns of her own. But when she was in Michael McBride's arms, all those niggling doubts slipped away. He had been happy about collecting the guns for the Real IRA during their trip to Derry. But he had been less than happy when he realized the plan was to sabotage the weapons before handing them over. Then, when he had found out what Liam had done to the arms dealer who had sold the weapons to the rival terrorist group, he had gone off on his own for a whole day and refused to tell her where he had been._

_There was a small nagging fear that he was playing her for a fool, that he was Real IRA and he was using her for his own dark purposes. But those small fears always fled as soon as she looked into his clear blue eyes._

She was distracted from her thoughts by the the rough towel he was using to dry her off and the kisses he was laying over each piece of her he dried.

_Oh, how she loved this man. He was everything she had ever wanted. She was positive he could never betray her. _She turned in his arms and let her fingers walk over the smooth hard muscles of his chest. _Strong and kind hearted._ She kissed first one nipple and then the other, smiling as he squirmed when her lips went lower. _He knew how to use his fists, she had seen him in a pub brawl more than once, and she had seen him shoot a handgun._ Her hands ran down his spine and over the curve of his firm buttocks. _She had yet to see him with a sniper rifle, but he definitely had the right delicate touch to work a trigger._

She pushed him back and he obediently sank down onto the bathroom floor, his long strong fingers wrapped in her damp hair. She lay kisses everywhere other than where he desperately wanted them, his hips bucking in frustration. She couldn't get enough of this gorgeous man and it was obvious he felt the same. She wet her lips and ever so slowly lapped the juices leaking from his tip while her hands skimmed the underside of his thighs.

_They shared similar interests, he had read the same books she had and his opinions on many things matched hers perfectly. He had even taken her to visit the Giants Causeway, a place she had longed to go, but previously had never had the time. _She drew him in with her lips until she could take in no more, his masculine scent surrounding her senses. His fingers tugging at her hair as he urged her onwards, gasping out her name as if it was a prayer.

Her tongue swirled around his length and her hands cupped his balls as they tightened, squeezing gently as his body began to shake. She sucked on him until she could feel him at the back of her throat. When he came hard, she drank him down, licking him clean before moving upwards to hold him in her arms, soothing him while his body shook with post orgasmic bliss. She smiled to herself over the power she had over such a powerful man.

"I have ta get ready now, 'am already late." Reluctantly, she disentangled their limbs and got to her feet, having to pull her wrist out of his grasp as he tried to delay her further.

He stayed on the floor, propped up against the side of the bath, his blue eyes sparkling as he watched her through half open lids as she got dressed and dried her hair.

"I'll be back this evening." She leaned down to kiss his forehead, nose and lips. "We'll stay in an' have some fun, I promise."

Reaching the front door, she turned and saw he was climbing back into their bed, now dressed in a pair of boxers, his hair still wet from the shower spiked up and in disarray. _She would eat her meal, help tidy away and then get back as quickly as she could._

**()()()()()**

It was dark when Fiona finally made it back to her home, the day at her mother's house was still fresh in her mind. Sitting in her car, she stared up at though the soft drizzling rain, which had been falling for the last hour, to the light still showing in her Belfast flat window. Michael was there, waiting for her to return. Biting down on her lower lip, she slipped out of the vehicle and made her way through the shadows to the staircase leading to the upper floors.

The day had started so well. She smiled fondly at the thought of how _well_ her day had started. Even the two hour drive from Belfast to Dublin hadn't managed to wipe the smile from her face. But by two pm that afternoon, she had been wishing she had never left home and had stayed in bed with Michael McBride.

It was a tradition, never to be broken, the same thing each and every Sunday without fail. The whole Glenanne family descended on her mother's home, on the outskirts of a village less than a mile from Dublin City, for a full Sunday dinner with all the trimmings. As long as you were somewhere on the Emerald Isle, you were expected to attend.

She remembered the warmth of her mother's kitchen, and the smell of a whole shoulder of lamb roasting in the large oven. She had spent ages standing in her mother's kitchen peeling potatoes while her mammy whisked a large bowl of batter to make batter puddings and her sister in law Isabelle kept a close eye on all the pots on the stove as well as watching over her growing brood, some of which were for once playing quietly under the large wooden kitchen table.

From the living room next door came the loud voices of three of her brothers, Liam, Seamus and Colin, raised in discussion regarding the Irish football match taking place on the large TVscreen in the corner of the room.

While the women were expected to prepare and serve the meal, the menfolk were left to their own devices, which usually meant they would watch whatever sporting event was happening on the box before disappearing down to the local village pub, only to return in time to sit down to a roast dinner.

While not fond of waiting on her siblings hand and foot, Fiona did enjoy the private time spent with her mother and her brother's wives: Seamus's dark haired, green eyed Isabelle was coolly practical and capable of running a houseful of children, five at present though she had just informed the family she was three months pregnant with their sixth, and Sean's young bride, Rosanna, who this particular week was away on holiday with her husband and two children, was a sweet and dreamy girl much like Claire had been. Or that was what most people thought, but in reality the girl had a hard streak a mile wide. Sean was proud of telling the tale of how his demur little wife had taken on two local women who had accused her of being an English whore. When Rosanna was finally pulled off one of the women, she had a large handful of the woman's hair wrapped in her fingers, and she had left the other one unconscious on the floor.

Fiona knew for a fact that in their own homes both Isabelle and Rosanna made sure their husbands did their fair share of around their respective houses. But in Maeve's home, the women did the housework, cooked meals and looked after the children while the men went about their own business.

But Fiona didn't mind. It didn't bother her any more how old fashioned and traditional her mother's views were because it was during the Sunday ritual that she could pretend for a short while to be just an ordinary girl and not a woman who had seen more death and destruction in her short life than most men did in a whole lifetime.

In the two years after her sister's death, Fiona's feelings about family, and her family in particular, had changed. So, for a short while, she got to imagine what it might be like if she found the right man, and to have children of her own running around her feet the way Isabelle's boys did all the time.

She knew it was a foolish dream. There were few men who were willing to play second in a relationship to a family such as hers. Liam's reputation was enough to send most men running in the opposite direction. Those that weren't put off by her brothers' interference rarely lived up to expectations and were soon gone. _That is until Michael McBride... _She smiled to herself. _He got on well with Sean, which in itself was a first. Sean out of all her brothers was usually the first to find fault with her boyfriends._

At the time, she hadn't thought much of it when her mother had spoken with a knowing smile on her lips. "Ya look happy, Fiona. Have ya _anyt'in'_ ta tell us?" the matriarch had singsonged.

The slam of the door being flung open and Isabelle's three oldest charging into the room had stopped the conversation before she'd had a chance to answer.

"Patrick, why don'cha take Dara an' Brendan outside an' kick a ball around fer a bit." Isabelle had caught hold of her eldest boy by the shoulder as the eleven year old had gone to run by her.

"Da sent me ta tell ya thar off down tha pub. They'll be back in an hour." The boy had spoken breathlessly before he had taken off after his younger siblings, chasing the twin nine year old's out of the back door and into the courtyard behind the house.

Seamus' offspring wreaked havoc wherever they went. Along with the three who were now chasing and fighting with each other outside, under the table there was seven year old Margaret, or Maggie as she was called, and four year Milo who had played quietly, except for their occasional forays to steal any treats they could reach from the table top.

But none of those pleasant memories were the cause of her trepidation as she slowly climbed the narrow concrete steps leading to where Michael waited for her. No what had her heart beating faster was her fear of what _he_ was going to say to her when she gave him her news.

Thinking back on it as she trudged up the stairs, she'd been a fool. Like any good guerilla incursion, the attack had come while her guard was down.

It had started at the dinner table. The children were all gathered together, sitting off to one side of the dining room at a smaller table, while the adults sat around the large oak table in the center of the room. During a lull in the conversation, Liam had fixed his pale grey-blue eyes on her and asked in his blunt manner.

"_So, who is dis fella yer dating?" _

_She had frozen under the gaze of the whole family as they all waited expectantly for her reply. All except Liam, who having asked the question, had returned to tucking into his meal. She had looked from face to face, one look at Colin's wide-eyed, far too innocent expression and she knew she was in trouble._

"_His name is Michael an' his jus' a friend," she had coolly replied, hoping that that was going to be the end of the questioning, but knowing deep down it was only the start. _

"_So, when are we goin' ta meet ham?" Came the next calm, reasonable sounding request._

"__I said___, he's jus' a ___friend___. Ya ___don'___ have ta meet ham at all." Her heart had started thudding in her chest as she had wondered exactly how much they all knew about the way she had been carrying on over the last three weeks__. She had sworn Sean to secrecy regarding the status of her relationship with their mutual acquaintance._

_"I hear tell his name is Michael McBride, he's fram Kilkenny an' he's been sleepin' in yar bed most nights o' tha week," Liam had answered her unvoiced question._

_Another glance at Colin and she knew who had been rummaging through her private life. ___Oh, one day am gonna ram thot computer of his up his arse ___had been the uncharitable thought running through her mind at the time._

_"Tha's none o' yar business, Liam," she had snapped in reply, before looking at all the disapproving faces. "It's none o' any of yars business who I invite inta me bed. Am a grown woman. I kin do wha' I like."_

_Colin was an excellent hacker. If there was something Liam needed to find out and the information was on a computer, Colin would find it. But who had told him to go looking? At that moment, she could have quite cheerfully had punched Sean's lights out if he had been there. Her favorite sibling had been the only one who knew who was sharing her bed._

_But now, having had time to think about it, she knew it could have just as easily have been one of the Provo council complaining to the head of the Glenanne clan that their operative, who was supposed to be working to bring down the Real IRA, was now dating one of their supporters._

"_It tis me business when ya put tha family at risk. Who is he? Wha's his affiliations? Have ya had him checked out? Ya put yar trust in tha wrong one, girl, an' we could all be fer it. Ya wan' ta see us all banged up or worse cos ya've fallen fer a pretty face?"_

_And that had only been the start. For after listening to her children argue back and forth for twenty minutes, their mother had put an end to it all._

_"Liam, leave tha poor girl alone wit' all yar questions. And Fiona, sweetheart, why dontcha bring yar special friend ta Sunday dinner next week?" Her mother had smiled sweetly. "After all tis Mudder's day__ and I hear tell tha poor man's got no family har. __It'll give us all a chance ta meet ham."_

_And the trap had sprung closed on her. How could she refuse? Colin had already researched her boyfriend. Now they all knew he had no family living in Ireland. There was no reason for him not to visit with his girlfriend's mother and present himself to the head of the family; it was after all the right thing to do._

She was at her front door now. She had no choice but to go inside and tell Michael he was expected to accompany her the following week. In addition, as it was Mother's Day, they would travel on the Saturday and stay overnight so she could be there to make her Mammy's breakfast before they would all go into Dublin to eat dinner in one of the best restaurants in the city.

Taking a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face and stepped through the door.

When she stepped into the flat and closed the door, he hadn't spoken to her. Instead he welcomed her back with a long deep kiss, filled with affection and want. His fingers danced over the fastenings of her coat until he could pull the heavy bulky article away from her body and down her arms before dropping it on to the floor. All the while, he was using his extra height and weight to guide her back through the living room and into the bedroom.

She went with him, letting him control the moment while his mouth never broke contact with her. He ravaged her with kisses, nipping at her when she tried to draw away long enough to catch her breath, his tongue swirling in her mouth laying claim to her stealing her words, trapping them in her throat.

When the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she began to fall, she sensed it was time to turn the tables. Her rebellious spirit had had enough of playing nice. With a twist of her hips and a tight hold on the front of his dark blue plaid shirt, she managed to use her momentum to pull him off balance and off his feet. McBride landed heavily on his back, with Fiona sitting stride him.

"Whot's all this?" she asked, the light of battle in her eyes.

"I thought I'd surprise ya... Ya said ya liked surprises," he replied with a twinkle in his eye and what could only be described as a lascivious grin on his lips.

"Aye, thot I did." She rocked against him, smiling as she felt him harden beneath her. "I'm glad ta know ya listen ta whot I say."

His large hands came up to cup her cheeks and he drew her face down towards him. "I remember every word ya say." He sucked on her bottom lip, as he drew her into another kiss.

Even though he was prone underneath her, she could feel his power, in each deep ragged breath he drew into his body and in the rough palms of his hands as they tenderly cradled her head. His tongue stroked over her now swollen bottom lip and all of a sudden she felt they were both over dressed.

Nimble fingers which could pick any pocket or manipulate any lock found the gaps in the front of his shirt and then with a flex of her wiry muscles, the tiny buttons flew off in all directions. He gasped and stiffened as she tugged and pulled at his under shirt in an effort to find bare skin.

She had an overwhelming need to take control and she let out a soft throaty growl as her finger nails scraped over is bare torso.

Within seconds, they were rolling around and eventually off the bed and onto the floor. Clothes were torn, ripped away and then discarded where they fell. In the end, she was triumphant, sitting on top, riding him hard with her head thrown back as they rocketed into heaven and beyond.

Afterwards, collapsing forward into his arms as he held her tightly against his body, she could feel him still inside her and she smiled into his chest. This was exactly where she should have been all day.

It was several hours later, while they were curled up around one another in bed, her head resting against his shoulder, that she finally told him about her Sunday.

"Me Mammy has invited ya ter join us all next Sunday," she announced quietly.

The fingers which had been idly drawing circles on her arm stilled and then she felt a soft kiss on the top of her head. "Ya can t'ank har kindly fer tha offer, but I cannae make it... I have a few t'ings ta do thot day."

Turning so she could look up at him, she walked her fingers over his chest. "I don' think it wa' a request. Me family wants ta meet tha man I'm spendin' so much o' me time wit'."

For a second, he froze. If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she would have missed it. But before she could comment, he relaxed and smiled warmly. "Aye? Well den, I'd love ta have Sunday dinner wit' yar whole family."

He had been so attentive to her needs that night, she'd ended up falling into such a deep sleep that she overslept in the morning by a whole two hours. She also missed the sight of her lover carefully sliding silently out of their bed at first light. She even slept through him gathering up his clothes and ten minutes later stealing out of the front door.

When she had finally woken and managed to force her aching body out of the warmth of the bed, she discovered he had gone out without leaving so much as a note.

**()()**

It was two days, two whole days, before she heard from him and then it was only a brief phone call asking her to meet him at the train station. He had promised if she came that he would explain why he had left so suddenly without a word.

Sitting in the small dingy cafe next to the railway station, staring into each others eyes over cups made of cardboard and filled with hot steaming tea, he explained how all the talk of families had freaked him out.

"I've lost me whole family, Fiona. Me Da, and me brudder... I –. And then me mum... I dinnae see har before she died. So, ya talkin' abou' Mudder's Day and all, I jus'...It's like I said ta ya before, families thar not me t'ing... I jus' needed ta go away fer a bit. I'm sorry I ran off like thot."

It wasn't much in the way of an apology, but she accepted it nevertheless and they left the cafe hand in hand, heading off for a night out under the bright lights of Belfast city center.

As they drank and danced the night away, she sensed a change in him, a reticence as if he was trying to create a space between them. Clinging to each other as the last song played in the nightclub, she gently massaged the tense muscles in the back of his neck.

"Whot's wrong?" she asked.

"Nuttin' s wrong, luv... I jus' think we should slow down abit. Thot's all." He went on to inform her with a forlorn expression that he was going to walk her home and then go back to his own bedsit for the night. He thought they both needed a little space.

For the next few days, they met up, but he refused to come back to her flat. When they were together, he spent most of his time trying to get her talk about her family. She was beginning to think he was preparing to break off the relationship when, as they sat on a park bench watching a group of teenagers kick a ball about on the grass, it suddenly came to her, a revelation out of the blue. All the questions about her family, she knew what it meant. He was nervous about making the trip south and having to face the whole Glenanne clan.

"Is it me brudders thot have ya so scared? Ya know Sean, an' if ya kin cope wit' his smart ass mouth, ya kin cope wit' tha rest o' tham." On the other hand, the mere mention of Liam's name had been known to bring men to tears. She suddenly felt sorry for him. She half turned and saw the look in his eyes. "Oh, c'mon I cannae believe ya've never met a girl's family befer," she scoffed, trying to break through his taciturnity.

It was then she saw the first crack in his confident exterior. "I warn't tha type o' lad thot tha lasses took home ta meet thar parents," he admitted with quiet sincerity.

"So ya war a bad lad, huh?"she replied, her hand sliding up his thigh, disappearing under the edge of his coat. "Are ya tellin' me yer a bad man, Michael McBride?" she singsonged.

"Worse than ya t'ink, lass," came his cryptic reply.

And that night, he returned to her bed.


	10. Derry Feburary '98 Part 2

**WHO WE ONCE WERE**

**A/N: **Thank for all the reviews and for all your support for these pre-Burn Notice stories of Michael and Fiona's time together in Ireland. This one continues the Derry story in Chapter 8. I'm sorry for any confusion this causes and at a later date I will sort all the chapters out into the correct order.

Also a special thanks to Jedi Skysinger for all her extra help and input into this chapter along with her brilliant BETA skills.

**x**

**Derry - February 1998**

**Part Two - Arriving at Braeside Hotel**

**x**

"Are ya sure this is tha right place, luv? It looks a bit fancy." Michael eased the Land Rover Defender off the main road to Derry and onto a long winding private road surrounded by beautiful parkland with large oak trees and conifers dotted over the frozen landscape. Ahead of them, a magnificent eighteenth century Georgian manor house stood dominating the scene with the snow covered Sperrin Mountains as a dramatic backdrop.

"Positive... I hope thar gonna be alright wit' us missing bookin' in las' night." Fiona leaned in close to her lover, smiling as she let her thoughts linger on their activities of the previous night and how they had spent the early morning hours together.

"I cannae imagine thar full up at this time o' year," he replied, gesturing with a nod of his head to the near empty car park in front of them.

"Oh, I don't know. Tis Valentine's in a coupla days. _Some people_ celebrate thot special time wit' a long romantic weekend away." She fluttered her eyelashes at him and widened her smile, waiting eagerly to see how Mr. McBride responded to her words.

"It's only Wednesday. Tis too early fer anybody wantin' a weekend getaway."

Ms. Glenanne's smile fell away and she sunk back into her seat as her totally dense boyfriend manoeuvred the large vehicle into a parking space, bringing the old 4x4 to a halt next to a brand new BMW. The young couple climbed out and hurriedly crossed the crisp and white snow covered ground to the large imposing oak doors that led into the hotel's warm welcoming lobby, which was dominated by a large fire blazing in an inglenook hearth.

"Can I help you?" The voice, undoubtedly feminine, instantly reminded Ms. Glenanne of her many trips to the Mother Superior's office at St. Augustine's Roman Catholic School for Girls.

Turning towards a long elegant table set into a quiet corner of the lobby, the couple soon found themselves facing a stocky, grey haired woman dressed in a smart dark green skirt and blazer ensemble who peered back at them through a pair of tortoiseshell framed glasses that had last been in style back in the fifties.

Fiona felt her hackles rise as the receptionist continued to run her gaze over her latest guests. The older woman didn't even have the good grace to hide her disapproval at their appearance, which the younger woman had to admit was not good. There was no denying they both presented a dirty and unkempt appearance and there _was_ a strong odour of musty old houses and open fire coming from their clothes. _But that didnae give har tha right ta judge._

"I'm sorry. War fully booked. So, unless ya have a reservation..."

Fiona peered at the woman's name badge before answering. "Good day, Ms. Doherty, I hadda room booked fer two days in tha name o' Isabelle Addams." She used one of her many aliases. "But we missed our book-in time yesterday because o' tha weather."

The matron sniffed and then smiled condescendingly. "I'm sorry, me dear," she said, though her tone clearly was not regretful in the least. "But we have a strict cancellation policy. Yar room..."

_Michael wa' right. Thar wa' no way tha place wa' full booked._ _Who tha hell does she think she..._

Fiona's right hand began to curl into a fist, preparing to throw a punch at the snooty old cow behind the desk, when she felt Michael's arm drop over her shoulder and pull her tightly against his body. With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and came out with a thick roll of bills.

"So, how much ta get _another_ room... Yar _best_ room?"

The woman's eyes went large as she stared at the three fifty pound notes he peeled off the roll.

"Thot enough ta cover tha night an' breakfast? Oh, an' a late book out fer tomorrow. We'll want tha room 'til six." He added another note to the pile on the table.

Fiona smirked as the lady in charge took the money and turned the register around for Michael to sign, pleased when he signed his name with a flourish as _Mr. M. Addams._

_McBride certainly did have a sense o' style- when he put his mind ta it._

"Do ya have any luggage, Mr. Addams?"

Fiona spoke before her 'husband' could say the wrong thing. "Aye, tha case is still in tha car... Michael, ya fergot ta get it outta tha back."

"Show us to tha room an' I'll get tha bag later." He winked at her.

"I'll give you room number twelve. It's on tha first floor." The receptionist held out a large iron key attached to a wooden disk. "If ya'll follow me." Her sharp blue eyes stared pointedly at the younger woman's bare left hand.

Realizing the old harridan had spotted the lack of a wedding ring, Fiona glared back at the elderly

woman, daring her to say a word and then smirking when the matron of the manor abruptly broke eye contact and began to walk towards the sweeping staircase which led up to the first floor.

"Sir, _missus_..." Ms. Doherty held the door open for the younger couple to enter before her. "Thar's a phone in tha corner. Ya have ta dial nine ta get an outside line." She pointed to an elegant mahogany bureau set in the corner of the room. "Tha remote controls fer tha telly ar' on tha table and yar en suite has both a power shower _and_ a rolled top bath." She pushed open the door to display the white tiled modern bathroom which the auburn haired woman thought was at odds with the Georgian décor of the rest of the room.

"Breakfast is served between seven and nine. Will ya be wantin' dinner tonight, Mr. Addams?" Ms. Doherty continued to point out the hotel's amenities, speaking in a crisp brisk tone, clearly still unhappy with her new guests

"Yes," Michael peeled off a five pound note, pressing it into the older woman's hand and at the same time edging the receptionist towards the door. "A table for nine o'clock, is thot alright wit' ya, me darlin'?" He turned to his 'wife'.

"Delightful, Michael," 'Mrs. Addams' smiled back.

"I'll see ta thot right now fer ya, Mr. Addams. Ya'll find a copy of tha menu on tha bureau."

As soon as the door closed behind their elderly hostess and they were finally alone, Fiona took hold of her new lover by the front of his jacket and slammed him back hard against the sturdy wooden door. Before he had a chance to recover, she pressed herself up against him, her fingers threading through his hair while her lips ravished his mouth.

The intensity of her emotions for this new man in her life was nothing like she had felt before. Not even during her one and only long term relationship with the international dealer in death, Armand Andreani, had she ever felt the burning desire for somebody the way she did right now.

She knew deep down they were moving way too fast. But Michael McBride was everything she wanted in a man and when Fiona Glenanne wanted something, she wasn't one to hang around and wait patiently.

Her hands went from his tousled dark hair to caressing his neck and then, in a move which made him gasp in surprise, she jerked his jacket half way down his arms as she sought to reach the hard muscles and soft skin hidden underneath far too many layers of clothing.

"Fi..." he groaned into her ear as she finally managed to tear the jacket from his arms and discard it on the floor. "Fi, we need ta -"

The redhead shut him up by biting down on his bottom lip before kissing it better, while her hands found their way under his jumper and undershirt to reach his rock solid abs. Running her palms over the ridges and lines of his muscular frame, her mind was aflame with memories of how they had spent their first night together, the sensation of him claiming her for his own filling her with an all consuming need for a repeat performance.

He was kissing her back now, his tongue stroking enticingly against her own as he held her to his body. Feeling his passion grow between them, she palmed him, rubbing and kneading the bulge hidden by his jeans.

"Fi...Fiona... Luv... Please..."

_Whot tha hell wa' he doing?_

He was no longer kissing her and, instead of holding her in a tender embrace, his hands were now pushing her away, keeping her at a distance while he stared down at her. His clear blue eyes were full of love and – something else.

"Fi... I, er... last night..." Michael began haltingly, his gaze flickering to the side instead staying on her face. "Last night wa'... well, ya know whot it wa'..." and his smile was almost shy. "But, ah... we... well, we... ah... never discussed..." he floundered to a stop.

"Discussed what?" she demanded, her brow furrowing as she tried to work out his meaning.

"Discussed, ah, ya know... We never used – I mean, when we – "

His cheeks flushed and, all of a sudden, she understood.

Relief hit her like a punch, making her gasp. It had been years since anybody had bothered to ask her this question and even longer since it had been asked so badly. Fiona laughed, a light musical sound, and stroked a hand down his bristle covered unshaven cheek. _It wa' all rather sweet really._

"Yer nae gonna get me pregnant, McBride... So, ya can quit yar fussing."

She watched closely as his features slowly relaxed, his hands sliding down from her shoulders to capture her waist and bring her back against his body.

"Sorry, I shoulda -"

She stopped his words by placing a finger over his lips.

"Nuttin' to apolgize fer, Michael... It wa' nice o' you ta ask, even if it wa' a wee bit too late."

Contraception had been a lesson taught to her by Armand. The French arms dealer, not wanting to jeopardize his blossoming relationship with the Provisional IRA by impregnating the younger sister of their chief interrogator, had ensured she had the means to protect herself from unwanted pregnancy.

Since returning to Ireland, she had found her own black market supplier of contraceptives. She'd had no intention of having to visit a family planning clinic or the family doctor to explain why, as a young unmarried woman, she needed to anything more than proper willpower and abstinence.

Besides, if she _had_ presented a prescription in any pharmacy either north or south of the border, it was guaranteed that at some point word would have reached her mother or Liam and the thought of facing one of their lectures or, even worse, being forced to listen to one of the family priest's sermons on the subject was quite enough to have her find her own source of Depo Provera pre-loaded injections.

"So, no worries then?" he pressed for confirmation.

"No…" She grabbed a hold of his belt, undoing the buckle with a casual flick of her wrist.

"Worries..." The button on his jeans was next.

"Whot so ever..." As soon as the zipper slid down, her hand slipped inside to fondle him through the cotton of his boxers. "Any more questions, McBride?"

She smiled as he swallowed, watching as his Adam's apple rose and fell, while the warm flesh beneath her hand pulsed and grew just from her touch .

"No, no more questions, luv." He flashed his teeth in a smile of his own, his hands leaving her waist to palm her breasts through her jumper.

It was only a matter of minutes before passion and raging hormones took over and their clothes were discarded, scattered all over the hotel room floor, and they tumbled onto the large feather mattress covered with Egyptian cotton linen. After some thoroughly enjoyable wrestling, she managed to end up on top. Straddling his slim hips, Fiona looked down on her lover through her loose mane of auburn hair, her blue green eyes sparkling with lustful wantonness.

"So, whot are ya thinkin, Michael?" she asked, her thumbs rubbing over his hard pebble-like nipples. "D'ya like whot ya see?"

"Whot am I thinkin'?... Am thinking ya need ta be somewhar more comfortable – fer both o' us."

He twisted, flipping her onto her back, his body covering hers in an instant.

"Now, isn't thot better?" Her boyfriend grinned down at her, shifting his hips to the side just enough so he could reach between their bodies.

She sighed her answer, long breathy sound that hitched when first one finger and then a second slipped inside her, rubbing against her inner walls, sending her pleasure synapses into overload as the dark haired man found the small bundle nerves deep within her core.

Writhing under his touch, Fiona arched upwards, crying out his name when his lips latched onto one breast, sucking the pliant flesh into his mouth while his tongue flicked over her sensitive nipple, before turning his attention to the other.

It wasn't long before she came in a rush, gasping and panting as she soared on a cloud of rapture before floating back down to earth still in the arms of her lover, his hand tenderly stroking her forehead and smoothing her hair while he whispered sweet endearments into her ear.

Still tangled together, they kissed softly at first as her breathing evened out. But gentle teasing pecks gradually turned more ardent. Hands and mouths were once again exploring one another until finally he slipped between her legs and into her warm welcoming center. It was just as powerful as it had been their first time together the night prior. Staring into each other's eyes, they continued to move as one, in a sensual dance which took them ever upwards to the heights of euphoria.

A little while later, snuggled together under the luxurious goose down duvet cover, Fiona felt a sudden wave of melancholy wash over her. The feeling came out of nowhere. Tears welled in her eyes and it was all she could to choke back a soulful sob.

Here she was in the arms of a man she believed she could truly love, so incredibly happy and filled with utter contentment, but now all she felt right at that moment was nearly overwhelming guilt. It had only been a little over two years ago that her sweet baby sister had been killed, cut down in the middle of a crowded street, choking on her own blood. She was sure Claire's last thoughts were how much her big sister hated her.

"Fi? Fiona, luv...? Whot's tha matter?" Michael shifted, turning onto his side so he could face her, his large hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping away an errant tear.

"Nothing," she sniffed, trying her best to reassure him nothing was wrong.

But when he just kept staring back at her, his whole expression showing his concern, she had to break the silence and explain that it was not his fault.

"I'm being silly... It just struck me... Ahhh," she breathed. "I hadda little sister, she died. It wa' an anniversary o' sorts nae thot long ago an' -"

"An' ya feel guilty fer being alive when she's gone?"

"How...?" He was so understanding and it made her love him even more.

"I lost me own family too... All o' tham." Now it was his turn to pause. She could see the pain of his own loss etched into his features as he continued. "I've lost friends, compatriots over tha years an' sometimes... sometimes yer left thinkin' it shoulda been me thot took tha bullet or -" He shook his head and blinked hard. "But it does ya no good ta let tha guilt take over, luv. Would yar sister want ya ta grieve fer ever?" He kissed her lightly, a gossamer soft peck to her forehead. "Or would she want ya out enjoyin' yar life?"

"I'd been such a bitch ta her," she sniffled again, remembering how dissatisfied and frustrated she had been with her brothers and her own choices in life and how, in a fit of despondency, she'd turned her anger towards the one person who deserved none of it.

"We all say things in tha heat o' tha moment, luv... But whotever ya said, I don't believe ya meant it and I bet she didn't either, nae down deep."

Fiona felt as if a weight was lifting. He was right, of course. Claire would have hated seeing her family still deep in mourning after two years. She had hated seeing anybody unhappy. It had been the main topic of their final argument.

The auburn haired Irishwoman let go of her sorrowful thoughts and smiled through her tears.

_Claire would definitely have approved o' Mr. Michael McBride._

"Yer a clever man, Michael. Ya know jus' tha right thin' ta say." Her mood changed in an instant. "An' fer thot, ya deserve a reward." Molding her body against his, she drew him into a deep lingering kiss, doing her best to show him how much he meant to her.

Breaking the embrace to take in some air, Fiona glanced across the room to the open door of the en suite, her animated eyes settling on the large roll top claw foot bath with the fancy gold taps.

"Michael, I think ya should go get tha case outta tha car," she announced casually as she rolled onto her back and out of his arms.

"Ya packed a bag? I dinnae notice one. Are ya sure ya remembered ta put it in tha Defender?" he queried.

Fiona tried her best to remain confident. This was another little deception on her part. He had taken her arranging for them to have some alone time before the meeting with the Real IRA's arms dealer without complaint. But would he feel the same after this second piece of deceit?

"O' course I remembered. D'ya take me fer a fool? It's under tha passenger seat. I packed a coupla changes of clothes - fer us both. I know it wa' forward o' me. But I guessed yar size. I've got four brothers I buy fer sometimes. I know how ta judge these things." She paused, filled with doubt.

_Wa' this a step too far? _She had been told in the past she had a tendency to be over powering.

They had been secretly dating for only a few weeks when she'd sprung the two night stay in a four star hotel on him and now she was admitting to buying him whole new outfits without even asking his opinion. Most men, she was pretty sure, would be heading out of the door at the first opportunity, fearing that they were already being set up for a trip down the aisle straight to the altar.

The redhead waited as her lover stared back at her through hooded eyes, his expression totally unreadable. Then just as she was about to speak, to her utter horror, he threw back the duvet and began to pick up his discarded clothing.

"Am sorry, I shoulda told ya what I wa' plannin'." Fiona reached out to him, her small hand landing on his shoulder in a desperate effort to repair the damage done. _Damn his bloody male pride... Thar all tha same._

"Fi...?" He half turned to look at her, his jumper balled up in his hands, a puzzled look on his face. "It's fine, luv. I've gotta put _some_ clothes on ta go out ta tha car or would ya prefer I parade through tha reception wit' all me assets on display?"

"Ya don't mind? I jus' wanted -" Her explanation came to an abrupt end as he pulled her onto his lap and kissed away her speech.

Holding her close, he looked into her blue green eyes that were staring back at him almost in amazement. "Let me get dressed now an' while am gone ya can run thot bath ya war eyeballin'."

Once she was alone, Fiona slid off the bed and went from frame to frame, drawing the heavy velvet curtains closed over the sash windows, blocking out the view of the mountains in the distance. Turning on the wall lights to give the room a soft muted atmosphere, the Irishwoman then headed for the en-suite.

Standing next to the large fancy bath tub, the petite redhead checked out the hotels supply of complimentary toiletries. Twisting the top off the sample size bottle of bubble bath, she lifted it to her nose. Lavender was not her favorite scent, but it would do for now. Emptying the contents of the small bottle into the swirling hot water, she watched the bubbles grow and spread out over the surface.

_Wa' this tha start o' somethin' bigger?_ Her hand shook as she twisted the tap to close off the flow of water. She had liked McBride from the first time she had spotted him watching her in that shady Dublin pub during her initiation into the RIRA and, when she had discovered he was part of her brother Sean's large circle of friends, she had made sure he got the chance to keep watching her.

Fiona didn't know much about him. The only things she was sure of was he was no international merchant of death like her last beau turned out to be, nor was he a Provisional IRA shot caller like Sean or Liam. In fact, he was as far as she could tell a perfectly ordinary guy, apart from his criminal background and his skirting around the edges of the RIRA.

The Irishwoman pushed back her concerns about his views on the peace process taking place in Belfast and Dublin. A lot of disenchanted young men were being drawn in by the hate-filled rhetoric of a few hard liners who had broken away from the Provisional IRA. But she was positive McBride wasn't a cold blooded killer. Sean's sister was sure that given a bit of time, she could change Michael's mind on any allegiances he might be forming and get him to help her out with her mission to bring down the rival organization.

Ms. Glenanne tested the water, checking that it wouldn't scald her, before climbing in and sinking down amongst the soft foam. Resting her head back, she stared up at the high vaulted ceiling, smiling to herself. Yes, she wa' indeed a lucky girl and jus' mabbe Michael McBride wa' goin' ta be a very lucky man.

Hearing the door creak as it was opened, Fiona tilted her head. "Michael, tis thot ya?"

"Aye, luv, I stopped off at tha reception an' got us a pot o' tea an' some pastries," he called back. "I cannae believe I missed this bag. How long did ya think we'd be away fer? Tha thing weighs a ton."

"It's just a few essentials." She heard the zipper open and wondered what he was thinking. She had spent an afternoon in Belfast city center perusing several department stores for jeans, shirts and underwear for him. "Did I get yar size right?"

"Aye, ya did good...But d'ya care ta explain tha rest o' tha stuff? I thought this wa' meant ta be a simple collection."

"Thar's no such thing as simple in this line o' work, Michael. Trust me. I know whot am doin'."

"C-4, AR15s, ammo, your bullet proof vest and thot god awful wig... Whot tha hell have ya got planned, girl?"

Fiona smiled. He had found the things she had buried amongst the clothing. "A girl has ta be prepared fer all eventualities, Michael... Now, ar' ya comin' in ta join me?"

"I thought I'd have a shower af -"

"Jayzus, yer thick, McBride." She twisted around, spilling water over the sides of the bath, so she could see the door. "Jus' get yar arse in here... Unless ya want ta bathe alone."

He came into the white tiled room, barefoot with his jeans undone and hanging low on his hips. Taking hold of the hem of his jumper, he pulled it up and over his head giving the lady reclined in the bath a perfect view of his toned torso.

"Hurry up. Tha water tis getting' cold an' I want ya ta wash me back."

"Anythin' you say, sweetheart." He sent her a toothy grin and pushed his pants down all the way before nearly falling over as he pulled his feet free of the denim pooled about his ankles.

Fiona wiggled forward to make room for her boyfriend to slide down behind her. With his long legs on either side of her, she reclined back, leaning against his broad chest. He reached around her, one hand settling over her left breast massaging the soft mound, his thumb rubbing over her sensitive nipple, while his other large paw glided down her torso and under the water before settling between her legs.

"Yer right. Tha water tis getting cold. Let me warm ya up, me beautiful girl," he whispered into her ear, his breath sending a shiver down her spine.

"Ya really don't mind me organ – nizing all this?" The hitch in her voice came as his teeth grazed on her neck, nipping and kissing in a line from just behind her ear down to her clavicle.

"Why should I mind?" he muttered as his fingers brought her closer to heaven by the second.

"I-I di-did it all behind yar – back. Some people wouldnae -"

"_Some people_ ar' idjits, girl. And now," he growled softly into her ear. "I'm behind _yar_ back."

He brought his ankles up and over her calves, pinning her legs against the sides of the tub as he began to pump his fingers faster and harder building her up to a crescendo that tore a loud breathy moan from her lips as she threw her head back against him.

This was too much... Held in his arms, with his legs holding hers to the bottom of the bath, all she could do was surrender to his touch. The orgasm left her breathing ragged and her body shaking each time his hands past over her overly sensitive skin.

"Ar' ya all warmed up now?"

She could hear the smugness in his tone and it brought out her competitive edge.

"Very. Thank ya." She wriggled out of his arms. "But yer still in need o' a wash an' maybe a little warming up yerself."

Turning to face him, Fiona sat astride her lover's thighs, one hand gently stroking along his hardening length. "Let me help ya wit' thot."

But instead of relaxing back, Michael surprised her by placing his hand over hers, stilling her attempt to return the pleasure he had just given her.

"Tha water is cold and war both in need o' a good wash." He gestured with a nod of his head to the shower in the corner of the room. "An' as we only have this place fer one night, I want ta make use o' _all_ tha facilities."

Clinging to each other, they climbed out of the bath tub and made their way to the glass enclosed cubicle. With water cascading down upon them from the shower head, Fiona pushed her boyfriend back against the tiled wall, trailing kisses from his jaw along his throat and down his chest, her small hands teasing and pinching his nipples while she sank down to her knees in front of him.

The slender Irishwoman remembered with crystal clarity how he had made her feel when he had worshipped her body the night before. How his hands, fingers, mouth and tongue had driven her to the brink of insanity and now this was what she wanted to do for him. Her hands curled around his muscular thighs holding him in place as she continued to kiss and lick her way over his abdomen until she reached the spot where he wanted her most.

Taking a moment to look up, blinking the falling water out of her eyes, she focused on her lover's expression of adoration staring back at her. Without breaking eye contact, she swirled the tip of her tongue around the head of his engorged manhood, tasting him for the first time, savoring the flavor of his masculinity. She watched as his lips parted in a throaty groan and she felt his fingers combed roughly through her hair.

Taking him into her mouth until she felt him at the back of her throat, she held him there, her tongue lavishing attention along his throbbing length. Then, tightening her grip on his trembling thighs, she began to bob her head up and down, tasting him, breathing in his scent and exulting in her power to make him shiver and moan in ecstasy at her touch.

It wasn't long before she felt him tugging on her hair, his words lost under the sound of the water still falling upon their heads. Then, all of a sudden, he was pulling her to her feet, pushing her back against the wall.

"I want ya," he gasped, "I want ya now."

"Have me then," she answered and, at the touch of his hands on her thighs, she raised herself up, wrapping her legs about his waist.

He entered her in one slow continuous thrust, impaling her, pinning her against the tiled wall, supporting her weight with his hands cradling her buttocks as they came together under the torrent of water and steam. Fiona revelled in being in the intimate grasp of such a powerful man, his limbs, his muscles, his member, all working in concert with determined thrusts to bring them both to bliss.

Panting, her body still being hit by the aftershocks of her orgasm, the petite woman slowly lowered her shaky feet back to the floor as she clung onto her lover. With her head resting on his chest, she listened to his heartbeat gradually slow as he regained control. Time seemed to stand still as they let the water wash over them until finally Michael turned the shower off and reached outside the door to where two fluffy white towels hung off a rail.

Taking their time, they dried each other, still getting to know one another's bodies. They took this as a time to acquaint themselves fully, but it wasn't long before they retreated back to the bed and under the covers to fall asleep, their bodies entangled.

The tea and pastries Michael had brought up to the room were left forgotten on the bureau.

**()()()**

When Fiona next opened her eyes, the digital display on the alarm clock beside the bed told her she had been out for more than two hours. Watching the man beside her sleeping soundly, she knew the time had come to make the call she had been dreading since the snow storm had interfered with her original plans the day before.

Carefully leaving the warmth of the bed without disturbing her slumbering lover, the auburn haired woman pulled on a T-shirt and panties and then collected her mobile phone from the pocket of her jacket.

Going through to the en-suite, she pulled the door shut and only then opened the device to stare at the display which informed her that she had ten missed calls and had sixteen unanswered text messages on the screen. Her mother, Sean, Liam and Liam's not so secret lover Jeannie Donahue had all been trying to get hold of her.

Liam had to be going wild by now. There were two things guaranteed to send her oldest brother into a meltdown and she had committed both acts: missing a scheduled check in and not answering immediately when he called.

Turning her phone over and over in her hands, for a moment her nerves nearly got the better of her and she seriously considered texting her big brother with her location and the news that she had decided to use the unknown and untested Michael McBride as her back-up. But deep down she knew a text message wouldn't satisfy the oldest Glenanne sibling.

But before she could risk his ire and type in the message, the screen flashed up with the head of the clan's name, announcing another incoming call. With a resigned huff, she pressed accept, closed her eyes and raised the phone to her ear.

"_Whar tha bloody hell have ya been? I have half tha feckin' Belfast Brigade on standby."_

"Am fine, Liam. I've been busy, thot's all." She tried to calm her rapidly hammering heart as she listened to the angry breathing coming through the phone.

"_Busy wit' whot?"_ he asked quietly, though she could still detect an edge to his tone.

"I'm sorry. I couldnae call las' night. I got caught up in tha snow storm on tha way north and the road wa' closed, so I hadda take cover at our old home an' thar's no cell signal out thar... Yer making a fuss about nuttin' Liam. I jus' decided ta make tha trip early so I could check out tha meeting place. Ya know, make sure thar's no surprises waitin' fer me... I know whot am doin', brother."

"_Am sure ya do, sweetheart... Sean said he sent one o' his men wit' ya. He behavin' himself?"_

Fiona smiled. Sean hadn't told their big brother who she was with or that she had a new boyfriend. It had to be a first for any of the boys to hide something like this from Liam, which had to mean her other sibling must approve of their relationship.

"He's been a total gentlemen." She would have to buy her favorite brother a drink or three for keeping quiet about Michael. The last thing she needed was for the rest of her family scaring off her first boyfriend in nearly three years. "It wa' good ta have a strong back around when we hadda get thot ol' beast outta tha snow drift and movin' ag'in at first light." Ms. Glenanne smiled to herself, knowing which of Sean's men the head of the family would now be assuming was her escort based on her comment. She hadn't _actually lied_ about anything.

"_Good, ya call me once ya have tha guns... Oh, an' Fiona, give our mum a call, would ya? She's been drivin' me mental wantin' ta know yer alright."_

"I'll call ya late tomorrow, and yes I'll give our mam a quick call, happy?"

"_I'll be happier when this is over. I told ya I don't like tha council using me family this way."_

Liam ended the call the same way he ended all calls, especially when in the midst of a mission, without a goodbye. Staring at her phone, Fiona bit down on her bottom lip, then almost reluctantly she turned her thoughts to Michael McBride. This conversation had been a sharp reminder of how much time she had left before she had no choice but to explain to her new lover that she was actually working against the very organization he wanted to be a part of.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur for the troubled Irishwoman as she was fast running out of time to come clean with her new beau about her true motives for collecting an arms shipment for the RIRA as they sat in the nearly deserted restaurant making small talk while eating their meal.

Playing the role of tourists to the full, talking at some length about their plans to go sightseeing in Londonderry, as the city was referred to by the loyalists of the North, in her mind she was desperately trying to avoid thinking about the consequences if she had misjudged his loyalty to the rival group.

Leaning slightly forward, clasping a wine glass in her hand, she found herself lost in the deep blue of his eyes. _How could she kill this man who already felt like a part of her? _It wouldn't come to that, she reassured herself. Michael McBride was a good man, he wanted peace. He would never countenance the bombing of a church or murdering children to make a point.

That night as they snuggled together, too tired to do anything more than sleep, Fiona was no closer to an answer to her problem.

**()()()**

The following morning, she wasn't surprised when as soon as she climbed out of the bed, Michael rolled over and within minutes followed her into the shower, insisting on helping her wash. His help however didn't involve any soap or even a sponge. Instead, he used his hands and mouth to work her into a frenzy until she could barely stand on her own two feet.

It was ridiculous really the way they couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other. But the urge to be with him, to constantly want to touch him was too strong to ignore and besides who was she to fight against something that felt so completely right?

"I could get used ta this." His lips trailed butterfly kisses over her abdomen, just above where they had just been the moment before. "Waking up every morning ta such a pretty sight." He smiled up at her, squeezing her buttocks before getting back to his feet, wrapping his arms around her and letting her feel his hardness pressing against her stomach.

"Yer insatiable, McBride," she declared with a light laugh, wriggling an arm free so his could stroke a hand along his freshly shaven jawline. "An' incorrigible. But we have a job ta do and not much time left ta get it done, remember?"

"Aye, tha job... I've already memorized tha Derry street map. It wa' tha first thing I did after Sean asked me ta do this job fer him." He leaned in to steal a kiss. "I thought it would save us some time." Another kiss, more demanding this time...

_How tha hell wa' she supposed ta concentrate on an arms deal when this man seemed ta be doin' his utmost ta keep her occupied in other ways?_

She surrendered his wishes as he began pushing her backwards towards the white tiled wall of the shower, his lips kissing away any protests she might be thinking of making while his hands stroked and petted their way over her body in a way guaranteed to make her forget why this was a bad idea.

When they finally made it downstairs, Ms. Doherty coldly informed them as it was ten to nine, there was no more cooked breakfasts available and they would have to be satisfied with the hotel's continental offering of toast or cereal.

"Thot's fine." Michael had sent the older woman a dazzling smile. "We'll take tha cereal an' then we'll grab a bite in Londonderry."

"Yes," Fiona leaned into her boyfriend and stared up into his eyes. "Tea an' a slice o' toast is about all I could manage."

Ms. Doherty looked between the two love birds and huffed before turning away muttering something about the younger generation.

"Are ya really gonna be satisfied wit' a bowl o' cornflakes an' some toast?" Michael gestured with a nod of his head to the only things left on the buffet style table set up in the middle of the room. "We should jus' go straight out and find another place ta eat."

"Yer right." She agreed. "We're already behind schedule. But we should have a hot drink before goin' out into thot." She pointed to the large window and the heavy downpour of rain and sleet outside.

**()()()**

A half hour later saw Michael behind the wheel of the Defender, driving them towards the city of Derry. Staring out of the passenger window, Fiona watched the passing Ulster countryside. The heavy rainfall was already washing the snow out of the trees and bushes and patches of green were appearing in some of the fields.

The foul weather suited the Irishwoman's mood as the rivers of water running down the edge of the roads reminding her of the cost to the people of Ireland if she failed to complete the assignment she had been given. If the fledgling Real IRA got hold of the weapons she was charged with collecting, they would have the fire power to truly make the streets run red with blood.

Glancing over at her companion, she thought about his part in all that was happening. She hated lying to him and dreaded what his reaction was going to be when she finally told him the truth. As if sensing her surveillance, the dark haired man glanced in her direction, flashing her a toothy smile.

"Ya want me ta drive straight ta the port or would ya prefer ta find somewhere ta eat in tha city?"

"Ta tha port, lets get this over with." She pursed her lips. _S__he couldnae carry on like this. It wa' time ta test how strong McBride's ties war ta tha RIRA._

Shifting in her seat, Fiona half turned so she could watch her lover's expression while she attempted to dig into his allegiances. "These guns wa'r buying, d'ya care about whot thar gonna be used fer?"

He raised an eyebrow and his eyes flickered in her direction. "Thot's fer others ta decide. Thot's tha way it works, isn't it?"

"Aye, tha commanders make tha decisions, but thot's not whot am asking."

"Fi...?" He slowed the old Defender down and pulled over to the side of the road. "Whot's goin' on? Ya've been quiet all mornin'... Have I done sommit ? – D'ya nae trust me?"

"I trust ya, Michael," she answered truthfully. "I jus' want ta be sure ya know whot yer getting' yarself into... Not everybody is cut out fer this."

He gazed back at her, his expression deadly serious, and as he began to speak she saw a look come into his eyes that she had seen a hundred times before, the spark of fanaticism which caused death and destruction about the world.

"Fiona, ya have ta believe me, Am a true patriot, I love me country dearly and will do _whotever_ I have ta ta make it safe an' free."

A great hollow was forming in her chest at his words. He sounded so earnest, so full of fire it reminded her of father and eldest brother when they used to speak of the glorious cause. Masking her true emotions, the young woman forced her lips into a smile. It wasn't the answer she had wanted to hear, but she still held on to the hope that she could make him see things differently.

"Good, we must all do whot we can... I'm glad ya feel tha same way. Let's get along. We've lots ta get done today."

They made the rest of the drive in near silence until they reached the entrance to the quayside.

Parking the Defender far enough away that it wouldn't be picked up on any security cameras they took a stroll hand in hand along the waterfront, acting as an innocent couple out for a walk to look at the boats in the harbor. As they admired the local fishing fleet vessels, they also casually directed their attention to the storage sheds behind a tall chain link fence.

"I'm meeting Brendon out har and he's gonna take me through ta meet up wit' his arms dealer friend... Yer ta keep yar mouth shut an' wait wit' tha vehicle. Once tha deal is done, I'll signal ya ta come in."

"And when Brendon or the mystery man double cross ya? Wit'out radios, whot's tha signal gonna be fer me ta come in guns blazin'?" he asked in a dry humorless tone.

"Am here on RIRA business," she spoke, as if to a small child. "Nobody will dare ta interfere, not if they wanta keep thar kneecaps. Jus' follow me lead." She waited, watching how he scanned the whole area. "Trust me, Michael. I've done hundreds o' these deals."

"Fine," he muttered in such a way to make it clear everything was most definitely not fine.

"Come on," she urged, pulling on his hand before he could find any more holes in her plan. "Let's check our escape routes an' rally points in case we need 'em and then you get ta take me shopping."

"Shopping?"

"Yes, if thing's go wrong, I don't want anybody at the Braeside Hotel thinking there was anything strange about tha couple stayin' in Room Twelve. Ya have taken me ta see all tha pretty boats and now yer gonna take me ta tha fancy city shops befer we head back home tonight."

The rest of the day went far too fast for Fiona Glenanne. She was impressed at how well Michael knew his way around the back streets of the port area. When he had said he'd studied the routes, she hadn't expected him to be able to navigate his way through the city like a native.

"I make me money driving getaway cars, luv. I can do this job wit' me eyes shut."

And she sincerely hoped he was right.

**()()()**

It was dark by the time they arrived back at the hotel and there was only an hour left before they had to vacate the room. As soon as they were inside, Fiona locked the door and turned to her partner in crime.

"Pack tha bags while I get ready," she told him, reaching for a change of clothes and the wig of long black hair.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was standing before the ancient fireplace, staring morosely at the flames of the small fire.

"Ya shouldnae have bothered lighting thot. We're going soon."

"I wanted ta," he answered softly.

Crossing the room she picked up her hairbrush and sat down in front of the dressing table to brush out her long fake hair. Watching his reflection in the mirror she could see how unhappy he was and though she hoped it was because he believed they were about to complete an arms deal for a bunch of murderers, she doubted that was the reason.

"Why ar' ya so quiet?" She got to her feet to face him.

He sighed and then, picking up her bullet proof vest, he walked over to stop before her. With a slight melancholy smile, he combed his fingers through the false hair, a mild look of loathing marring his features.

"I don' like tha idea o' people shooting at ya," he replied softly. "And I don' like this, ya said thar wa' no risk. So, why tha disguise?"

"In case ya hadn't heard, I have a brother who isn't keen on whot me and Sean ar' doin' at tha moment. He follows tha official Provo line... So, this way if am seen, am a mystery woman wit' long black hair an' Liam stays out of it. I don' agree wit' ham, but I don' want ta make any _more_ trouble fer ham wit' the Council. He's me family, pigheaded bastid thot he is."

"An' when we leave har? Ya should wait ta -"

"Me hair will be hidden by tha hood on me coat, nobody will see. Is thot was has ya so worried?"

He helped her into the vest, drawing the velcro tabs tight across her chest, his palms lingering over over her Kevlar protected breasts. "I don' like tha idea o' people shooting at ya," he repeated.

"Yer worried?" she queried, unused to the idea of somebody being worried about her safety on a job.

"Yer not?" He squeezed her waist and sighed quietly.

_Her family cared for her deeply, but they would never worry. They trusted her skills so completely now... So different than when she'd first come home... Well, maybe Liam would worry regardless... Sean liked to call their eldest living sibling a mother hen and it was a fair description, if mother hens came armed with deadly weapons and a natural skill in the art of intimidation and torture._

"One thing ya will learn about me, Michael McBride. I don' worry, nae since I wa' a little girl."

She sat down and tried to see what he was staring at out the window. The dark haired man drew her attention back to himself, gently running the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

"Everybody worries sometimes, luv." he pointed out.

"Not me," Fiona replied, moving past him to settle on the couch opposite the window.

Sitting there on the sofa once again, she remembered their earlier conversation before they had headed to Londonderry as McBride had remarked on what a great man her father had been with such pride in his voice, as though he held the man in great personal regard.

"_And how do ya know anythin' about me Da?"_

_Her lover looked conflicted for a moment, as if he hadn't wanted to reveal a secret. "Sean said," he answered sheepishly at length. "He wa' very proud o' ham...about whot he'd done fer tha Cause."_

_She had to smile at that. The youngest Glenanne male was always trying to fill the shoes of his deceased sire and his eldest brother. In some ways, they were very much alike, both of them trying to live in the shadow of the demands of their family code of honor, but each trying to be their own person as well. Such was the life in their large clan where reputations cut both ways._

"_When I wa' younger, me father wanted ta protect his family and thar beliefs no matter whot." She had spoken as if telling a story. "I watched him get beaten and shot at. But if he wa' afraid he never showed it. He always said thar wa' a difference between living and living free."_

"_And how did thot work out fer ya all?" Michael had asked, almost as if he'd known the answer._

"_Well, o' course, living wit' honor, it put us in more danger. But me father came up with a plan ta warn us if he knew trouble wa' brewing. He would say time ta be brave little angel..."_

"_Time ta be brave little angel?" he had echoed in obvious confusion._

"_I suppose it wa' a code of sorts. Whot it really meant wa', get down on tha floor, close yar eyes an' start prayin' til it's over."_

Watching Michael approach her from the window frame, she wondered briefly about what Patrick Glenanne Senior would have thought of what she was about to do.

"Time ta go," she said, coming to her feet. She smiled at him as he put the coat on her and fitting it around the vest as she reached up to cup his cheek.

"Faith and prayer might get ya through tha worse o' it..." he began quietly, pulling her snub nose revolver out from the waistband of his jeans. "But praying won' stop Brendon Callum an' his friends fram shooting ya if they decide ta keep tha guns an' tha payment."

Her gaze strayed to the weapon in her lover's hand. She had been wondering where it had gotten to. Michael must have taken it during one of their rendezvous at Sean's house. Smiling, she accepted the gun, letting her fingers brush over his palm as she took the Smith and Wesson revolver and tucked it against the small of her back.

"Which is why war nae carryin' tha payment. When I've seen tha guns, others will be takin' care o' the financial arrangements." Fiona reached up and kissed the tip of his nose. "Me family's been in the gun dealin' business fer awhile, Michael. I know whot I'm doin' so don' get yar knickers in a twist," she jibbed, trying to tease him out of his somber mood.

Looking around the room, Fiona was pleased to see he had packed all their belongings. Buttoning her coat, she let Michael arrange the hood so little of her hair or features were on display.

He looked so sad and serious that his lover couldn't help but give him a quick peck on the lips.

"It'll be fine Michael, everything is arranged..." She willed herself to believe her own words. The RIRA wanted the guns and she was there to get them. Anyone with the PIRA would know to leave them alone... that only left the police and the army to worry about... _whot else wa' new?_ "Once we have tha guns and war away, I'll explain everythin' I promise ya."

Her dark haired boyfriend picked up the case, the conflicted emotions still clear on his face.

"An' – and we'll spend Valentine's at me place whar we won't be disturbed. How does thot sound?" she offered in a rush, hoping she wasn't being too forward again. Now that they were lovers, she didn't know how she would be able to go back to what they had before.

His expression softened, a look of anticipation overlaying the anxiety there. Michael reached out with his free hand and drew her in for a soft, lingering kiss.

And as she kissed him, Fiona Glenanne knew in her heart the frightening truth was that she was far less worried about facing down the blood thirsty members of the newly formed RIRA or the gun runner who would be supplying their means to commit mayhem than she was about what would happen if she couldn't convince Michael McBride to see things her way once he knew the truth.


	11. Derry Feburary '98 Part 3

**WHO WE ONCE WERE.**

**A/N **Thank you all, for the reviews, favorites and alerts for this series of stories. A special thanks as always goes out to Jedi Skysinger for her BETA on this and all my other stories. **  
><strong>

**Part Three, Derry Feb '98**

On the way back to Belfast

The hand-off at the docks went like clockwork, just as Fiona had said it would. With the ancient SUV loaded down with enough weapons to start a small war, the couple left Derry Harbor and headed out of the maritime city towards Belfast.

_She was an idiot, a stark raving mad idiot. What the hell had she been thinking? A hormone crazed teenager had more tactical awareness than she had shown lately... And now she was stuck, trapped by her own stupidity..._

Fiona Glenanne closed her eyes and slumped down in the passenger seat of the old Land Rover Defender as her lover and the main reason for her present state of mind drove sedately along the A6, the main Derry to Belfast road.

_She should have kept him at arm's length. She should have waited longer before involving him in her life._ Opening her eyes, she gazed at his profile. This man who had only been a fixture in her life for slightly over three weeks had already managed to turn her whole world upside down.

The young Irishwoman swallowed thickly _and now…and now she was going to have to kill him._

_She didn't want to do it, but she really had no choice. Because of her adolescent crush, he was on the verge of finding out her secret. In less than ten miles, she was going to have to direct him to turn off the main carriageway and onto a narrow track which would lead them to a barn where her brother Liam had left all the equipment she needed to age the trigger mechanisms on the guns they had just purchased on behalf of the Real IRA._

She took a long look at the man who had stolen a piece of her heart, thinking about exactly how much, or rather how little, she knew about him. Michael McBride had entered her brother Sean's circle of friends shortly after they had had their very public disagreement with Liam about how the peace process was progressing.

Nobody outside the family and the higher echelons of the Provisional IRA knew it had just been an act to attract the attention of the Real IRA recruiters. She and Sean had always been known as the family firebrands, which made their decision to part company from the Provo and their big brother's anger at their betrayal all the more plausible.

She remembered catching the eye of the tall dark stranger during her initiation into the radical breakaway group, his deep blue orbs and the slight challenge in his smile drawing her attention. She had returned his smile and then, a few weeks later in a Belfast bar, when he had finally gotten up the nerve to approach her, she had pressed the barrel of a snub nose revolver into his stomach before accepting his offer of a dance.

He was a criminal, not long out of a foreign jail, returned to his homeland because of a misunderstanding with a low level Mafioso. A young man with a desire to belong, who had, having no family left alive, aligned himself with the organization she had been sent to destroy.

She ran the tip of her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. _What if she trusted him? What if she took that suicidal leap of faith and told him everything? Would he hand her over to the newly formed council of the RIRA and denounce her and Sean as traitors? Was he a cold-hearted killer? Was he capable of making love to her one night and killing her the next?_ A long ragged sigh escaped from between her lips, drawing his gaze briefly away from the road ahead. _Was she the type of woman who could sleep with a man and then end his life?_

"Sommit tha matter, luv?"

_Her hand shook, but it didn't stop her pressing the barrel into the back of her lover's exposed neck. One shot and it would be over and she could get on with the job she had been sent to do. It was what was expected of her, by her family and the cause they all believed in. Letting McBride live was putting everything she stood for and everyone she loved in danger._

"Fiona?"

"Am fine, Michael, keep yar eyes on tha road." She pushed away the image, swallowing down the threat of nausea at the mere thought of executing the man at her side. _Dammit, she couldn't do it!_ She now had two choices left and neither one was palatable.

_She could tell him the truth and hope and pray that his feelings for her ran deeper than to the cause he claimed he would die for. Or she could keep quiet, ignore the Provo's orders to sabotage the guns and hand the fully functioning deadly weapons over to the RIRA, and then look for another way to bring down the rival organization._

"Ya don't seem fine – d'ya wan' me ta pull over?"

_Why couldnae he jus' shut up?_ Forcing a smile, she sat up a little straighter in the seat. "I'm jus' a little tired, thot's all. I'll tell ya whot, tha's a little side road coming up on tha left. Take thot an' thar's a little barn at tha end o' tha lane. We'll stop thar an' rest up fer a while."

She couldn't deliver the guns in working order to people who would use them to kill innocents, nor could she bring herself to place a bullet in the back of the skull of Michael McBride. Instead, she was going to follow her heart and trust that the stranger from Kilkenny possessed a conscience.

"_Ya've gone soft, an' fallen fer a pretty face. I always said this wa' no job fer a beour and ya proved me right... Thank ye fer thot."_ It was as if Liam was sitting behind her, whispering in her ear. _"So never ye mind, sweetheart. I'll take care o' ham fer ya... Lough Neargh is jus' along tha' way. I'll drop his body in thar an' nobody will be tha wiser."_

The young Irishwoman shifted uncomfortable in her seat. She had no doubt in her mind if Liam ever heard of the risks she had taken, he would banish her to the family home to care for their ageing mother, and McBride would disappear into a watery grave, whether it was in the largest lake in Ireland or out at sea.

She touched her lover's arm and leaned across to place a reassuring kiss on his cheek. She had to have faith. It was the only way left open to her. She had trusted him when she had brought him along on this trip. She had trusted him enough to spend a night alone with him in a deserted farmhouse and she had trusted him to be her back up when they had picked up the weapons.

_Michael McBride wa' a good man, I know it. Deep down in me soul, I know he'll nae hurt me._

With that thought foremost in her mind, Fiona nudged his arm and pointed to the turning that was just becoming visible on the left hand side of the highway.

"Thot's tha road we need ta take."

"Okay, then." He sent her puzzled look as the SUV began to pitch and sway on the uneven surface. "Ya have sommit planned?"

She sighed heavily and frowned. "Get us ta tha barn an' I'll tell ya everything."

Closing her eyes, the auburn haired young woman sent out a silent prayer that she wasn't about to make the biggest and last mistake of her short life. _McBride wa' a good man. It wa' thar written in tha light o' his eyes, in his smile... in every single inch o' him._

As soon as the heavy vehicle came to a stop, Fiona had the door open and her feet on the ground. Using the hood of the SUV as cover, she drew the snub nose Smith and Wesson from the waistband of her jeans and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket.

"So, whot's so important it couldnae wait?" the dark haired man appeared from the other side of the Defender. "Don' we have some whar ta be?"

"War right whar we need ta be. Go open tha doors fer me, Michael, an' I'll bring tha car inside." She ducked her head down just in case he saw the concern in her eyes and pushed by him to climb into the driver's seat.

"Fi?"

"_Dammit, toughen up, ya soft hearted idjit,"_ she silently scolded herself while doing her best to hide her growing agitation behind an easy smile. "_Liam'll nae trust ya wit' anythin' important again."_

"Stop yar dawdling and get tham doors open, Michael. I swear yer worse than me brudders fer wantin' ta know every little detail o' me life."

"I didnae mean -"

"Tha doors, Michael." Thankfully he stopped quizzing her and turned to the task of pulling the tall wide barn doors back until there was enough room for her to drive the Defender inside.

Cutting the engine, the red-head used the rear view mirror to watch as her lover closed the doors and then started walking towards her. Sucking in a deep breath, she held it for a moment and then let it out.

_This wa' it... _She blinked and steadied her nerves before climbing down to meet her fate.

_Am nae wrong. He' wa' nae a killer_. She had faith in her judgement. However, the hand wrapped around the handle of her revolver reminded her of her duty if she happened to be wrong.

"So, whot's all this then?" Michael pointed to a table, which had been set up in the center of the barn, and the various jars, tools and glass trays laying on its surface.

"It's all part o' tha plan. It's nothin' fer ya ta be worried about," she answered airily, pleased that her voice didn't betray her true feelings. "But befer we get started, I wanted ta ask ya sommit. D'ya have any idea whot tha guns war carryin' are gonna be used fer? D'ya care whot breaking tha ceasefire will do ta tha negotiations thot ar' abou' ta take place?"

He didn't answer her immediately. Instead he backed away, one eye staying on her while he investigated the equipment which had been left by her brother to make the weapons unusable.

"We talked about thot befer, Fi. I told ya back then, Am willing ta do _whotever_ it takes ta get tha British ta feck off back across tha water." He was holding up one of the jars that was filled with an acid compound which would weaken and age the trigger mechanisms.

"So, ya believe killin' our own people, murderin' innocents is tha way ta accomplishment thot?" The way he was staring back at her sent chills down her spine. He had lost all semblance to the man who had made love to her only hours earlier. There was a cold icy aura bout him as he stared blankly back at her through narrowed eyes.

"Tha people will understand. Thar has ta be sacrifices made if-"

She shook her head. _How could I have been so wrong?_ He was parroting the same hardcore rubbish that the RIRA leaders spouted at their recruitment rallies.

"Would ya blow up a church on a Sunday ta make thot point?"

His features twisted in a sudden rage. The jar was slammed down onto the table top and his hands turned to fists. "Don't – don't go thar. Ya don' know whot yer talkin' about," he spat.

She had no idea what had sparked off such a fury in the dark haired man. She'd obviously hit a nerve mentioning bombing a church, so she changed her aim slightly. She needed him to listen to her, rather than backing off and yelling.

"If not a church, how about a school? Tis a school full o' kiddies a legitimate target? How about thot hundred an' fifty kilo bomb thot wa' planted in tha middle of Banbridge? If thot had gone off - it wa' right outside tha gates o' a primary school, Michael. Could ya justify thot ta yar conscience?"

"I don't know, Fi. Whot d'ya want me ta say?" He spun away, putting more distance between them. But at least the fire had dampened in his eyes. "Do I want ta see children dead and innocents blown up? God, no!... But whot else can we do?"

Tears began to well in her blue-green eyes. _H__ow could she have gotten things so wrong? This man, filled with so much anger and hate, wasn't the same man who had made love to her tenderly two nights ago._ She sniffed and took a step closer to him, her thumb drawing back the hammer of the snub-nose revolver hidden in her coat pocket.

"We can take a different path." She no longer tried to disguise the tremor in her voice. "_Ya_ could join me an' we'll find another way, a better way..."

"Doin' whot exactly?... Is this some sorta test? Or have ya jus' lost yar mind, girl?" He was in front of her now, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly.

"Am not workin' _for_ tha RIRA, Michael. Am workin' _against_ tham." She blurted out her confession and, at the same moment, made her gun safe and brought both hands up to cup his bristle covered cheeks. "Am here ta sabotage tha weapons so they can nae be used by tha bastids," she continued softly.

"Whot?"

His tone was flat and as he looked down at her through hooded lids. She shivered then, for the first time feeling truly afraid in his presence.

"Am with tha Provo, Michael. I always have been an' always will be. Thot fight me and Sean had wit' Liam wa' jus' a piece o' play actin'. Ya have ta understand, I didnae mean ta drag ya inta this, ta lie ta ya tha way I did. But ya have ta believe me, I love me country dearly. I've seen whot can happen when ya let hatred rule yar life. I've... We have ta give tha peace process a chance. Ya see thot, dontcha?"

She stroked her thumbs along his cheekbones, praying that he felt the same way she did. She had laid out her heart and soul before him and now could only wait to see if he was the man she had hoped he was.

"Ya realize whot ya've jus' told me could get you an' Sean killed? If I walk away – if I grass ya ta McKevitt -"

"I'd be slaughtered along wit' Sean, and probably Rosanna and tha babbies, too. Ya'd be responsible fer startin' a blood feud cuz Liam would..." She paused and swallowed hard. "Ya _really_ don' want ta know whot me brudders would do."

He took hold of her hands, clutching them briefly between his own before releasing her and stepping away. "Yer giving me nae choice but ta back yar play har."

"If ya love our country like ya say ya do, _if_ ya really do want whot's best fer our people, then ya'd be fighting fer peace... But, if yer just a bastid who gets off on violence and fear... Well, go tell McKevitt and thot wife o' his whot you've discovered an ya'll get all tha blood ya could wish fer. Thot's yar choice, Michael. Thot wa' always gonna be yar choice in tha end."

"I cannae believe ya'd do this ta me, Fiona... This better nae be some damn test," he added angrily, shooting her a look filled with ire.

"It's nae a test o' anythin' except yar conscience. Am trustin' ya wit' me life, Michael. I've only known ya a few weeks, but I believe yer a good man who knows right fram wrong... Tell me tha truth, honestly, d'ya truly believe whot McKevitt an' his like are tellin' ya? Thot doin' things thar way will make tha Brits back off?"

"It wa' good enough fer ya da' an' fer mine, too." The anger had lessened, as he began to sound more like a sulky boy.

"Aye, an' thirty years ago, mabbe it wa' tha best way forward. But tha world has changed. Jus' look around, nobody has tha stomach fer another thirty years o' killing... Me family's got as much reason as any ta hate, but we know... _I know_... thot it cannae go on like this.. Ya know am right, Michael."

He stalked to the back of the Defender while she watched, barely breathing as he lifted out the first crate of weapons from the back.

"Well, let's get on wit' it then." The heavy crate landed on the table with a bang.

They worked in silence, removing the trigger housing part on each gun and dipping the springs into the small jars filled with an acid compound. After a few minutes, they washed each one off and reassembled the weapon before moving onto the next.

Some would work for a time before failing, others not at all. The hierarchy of the RIRA would look to the supplier for an explanation and, when they couldn't find a trace of him, they would believe he had absconded after conning them out of their money, hopefully never guessing that the Glenanne family at the behest of the Provo Council had been the cause of all their woes.

"I'll make it up ta ya, I promise -"

He cut her off with a look of disgust. "Jus' leave it, will ya?"

So she did, keeping her head down until just after the sky began to grey in the pre-dawn light as they finally loaded the last crate on to the back of the Defender. Several times she had to stop her hand reaching out to touch McBride's arm or to caress his cheek. But the whole time he remained cool and aloof, refusing to even to make eye contact.

It was only when they neared Belfast that he brought their vehicle to a stop and turned to face her, all signs of friendship gone.

"I've done whot ya asked, but I'm nae gonna be thar when ya hand 'em over. I cannae believe whot ya've done ta me, Fiona... So, it'll nae be _me_ thot they'll be rememberin' when they find out whot ya've given tham is rubbish." He barked a bitter laugh. "An' I'm willin' ta bet thar'll be no trace o' yar arms dealer friend when yar brudders ar' finished wit' ham fer tham ta find when they go lookin' fer someone ta blame."

She dropped her gaze, unable to meet his heated stare any longer, guilt twisting in her belly.

"Yer on yar own now."

And then before she could stop him, he was gone, sprinting down a dark back alley and her with no time left give chase.

**St. Valentine's Day**

Just like when she had taken delivery of the shipment in Derry, the handing over of the arms in an abandoned Belfast warehouse had gone off without a hitch. The local shot caller, Patrick Keenan, had nearly danced a jig as his men had unloaded the crates from the back of the Defender. Cracking open each wooden case in turn, the hardened terrorist had pulled out several of each type of weapon and scrutinized them closely. Running his large, calloused, work-hardened hands lovingly over a selection from the stockpile of AK47s, Remington pump-action automatic shotguns, Glock semi automatic pistols and, the biggest prize of all, two pristine .50 calibre Barrett machine guns and three hundred armour piercing rounds for them to fire.

"Let's see how tha Brits like this little lot." He had snaked an arm about her waist and tried to plant a kiss on her lips. But she'd managed to wriggle out of his grasp and make her escape with a parting promise to let him buy her drink at the next planning session.

"Am gonna hold ya ta thot, Fiona Glenanne, an' if yer _really_ nice ta me, I'll give ya a leading role in our first big job... Whot d'ya think o' thot, lass?"

What she had thought as she'd smiled sweetly at the heavily built and bearded Irishman was how easy it would be to bring the whole assignment to an end right there and then by shooting Keenan and his small team of men and then blowing up the old building to destroy all the evidence.

But instead of going with her instincts, she had reminded herself they had bigger fish to fry than one small RIRA brigade. So she had done her best to keep a hint of warmth in her tone as she'd replied, "I'll await yar call, Patrick."

Then, without a backward glance, she had climbed into the Defender and driven away. The man had been positively giddy at getting his hands on so many automatic weapons. She had actually felt a twinge of pity for him.

But only a twinge.

That had been twenty four hours ago and she was still waiting for the fallout from her massive lapse of judgement which went by the name of Michael McBride. _Whar tha hell wa' he? And whot tha hell wa' he doin'?_

After leaving Keenan, she had gone straight home to her rented flat on the outskirts of the city and, once behind closed and bolted doors, she had allowed her emotions free rein. For the first time in _bloody years_, she had let her guard down and given an outsider a glimpse of the real Fiona Glenanne. _An' whot had happened?_... _Tha bastid had run off._

She just had to pray that was all he had done. Because if he had breathed a word of what had happened on the road from Derry to Belfast, she would make him pay dearly before ending his worthless existence.

_Assuming he didnae get her killed first._

She'd spent a restless Friday in her flat, doing exactly what she was supposed to, laying low and staying out of sight, when what she had wanted to do was scour the streets for her erstwhile lover. But, in the end, her adrenaline fuelled body had decided she'd done enough waiting around for something to happen.

_Surely,_ her subconscious had argued, _if McBride had chosen to turn her into the RIRA high command, she would have had the bang on her door by now._

So, with that thought in mind, she had left the security of her flat in the early evening and made the two hour drive to Dublin in the south where Mr. McBride had a room in a boarding house overlooking the Liffey River.

Inside the run down, three-story building, she had climbed the stairs to the top floor and managed to reach his room without seeing another soul. Knocking lightly on the door, she'd waited for only a few seconds before bringing out her lock picking set.

Inside her lover's private refuge, she had discovered a neatly made single bed with a bedside cabinet, a four drawer chest of drawers with an aged microwave stood on top and a small fridge beside it. Not a single book, photograph or ornament adorned the place. Moving across to the only other door in the room, she found a small shower room with a toilet and a sink.

Pursing her lips, she noted his toothbrush, a bar of soap and his shaving accoutrements were sitting on top of the window sill in front of the sink. Moving back into the main room, she opened the drawers on the dresser and found each one contained at least a few items of clothing. He hadn't run away, or if he had, he had gone in such a rush as to leave his few meager belongings behind.

It was then she noticed the crumpled up shirt on the floor, half hidden under his bed. Reaching down, she pulled the garment all the way out and that was when she dropped down onto his bed.

The plaid shirt was the one he had been wearing on the night of their first dance. He had worn it since, but that one night always came to mind when he wore it. Holding it up to her face, she breathed in his scent, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell. It had obviously been laying around for days.

When she realized he had yet to return to his home, and as she had no idea when if ever he would, she had scrunched up the shirt and pushed it down into her bag. Then after smoothing down the rumpled cover on the bed, she had left.

That night she'd showered and then slipped into the freshly laundered shirt before going to bed. It didn't smell of him any more, but that didn't matter. It was a reminder of what she had lost.

So now she was stuck in a sort of limbo, unable to decide what to do for the best. She had no idea where McBride had gone or what he was doing. Even though it appeared that he had kept his word and hadn't informed the leaders of the RIRA that their ranks had been infiltrated by PIRA saboteurs, that didn't mean that he wouldn't do so at a later date

The soldier that ruled her head demanded she tell her brothers everything, confess that she had made a massive tactical error and then help them do whatever was necessary for the safety and security of the clan. However, her heart fought back, urging her to remember how she had felt every time McBride had looked into her eyes, how his touch had made her tingle all over. Filling her mind with memories of his gentleness in the ruins of her old home and later when a sudden bout of grief for her lost sister had threatened to overwhelm her, she laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and running her fingers over the sleeves of his shirt.

If she told Sean, or god forbid Liam, what had occurred, she knew without a doubt her words would seal Michael's fate. Neither man would be willing to risk the family's safety on a stranger's honor. With her head counselling full disclosure and her heart urging her to wait a few more days, it was no wonder she was barely getting any sleep and had a raging headache.

It was mid afternoon when a light knock on her front door had the auburn haired woman jumping to her feet, and reaching for her gun. Sucking in a deep breath, she cautiously approached the front door. Generally speaking, death squads didn't politely knock on their targets doors and wait to be let inside; however, they might do so when going after such a prize as the little sister of a high ranking member of a rival group, _especially_ if they wanted to take their time making her pay for her deceit.

Standing to one side of the solid door, Fiona tried to slow her rapidly beating heart as she peered through the spy hole to see who was on the other side.

And then all of a sudden she didn't know whether to laugh, cry or turn the air blue with curses, as through the fish eye lens she made out the tall muscular frame, dark hair, blue eyes and, most prominently, the cocky self assured dazzling smile of Michael McBride.

Casting aside the gun, she threw the door open wide and stood with a hand on each side of the frame, blocking his way inside. It was then she noticed the large bouquet of flowers he was holding in in front of his chest. A dozen long stem red roses in amongst what looked like a cloud of babies breath, wrapped in cellophane emblazoned with the name of the most expensive florist in city.

"Whot's this?" She eyed the flowers suspiciously. "Did ya buy tham as an apology fer running off, or ta place on me grave?"

He had the decency to drop the cheesy grin and at least look a little ashamed. "I came har ta talk. Can I come in?" he asked softly.

She thought briefly about hitting him about the head with the roses before slamming the door in his face; however, in truth she was feeling nothing but relief at the sight of him. Moving aside, she gestured for him to come past.

Closing the door behind him, she took the flowers and carried them into her small kitchen. "Help yarself ta a seat... Ya want anything ta drink?"

"Am fine." Instead of waiting in the living room, he followed her into the kitchen. "Er... I wanted ta tell ya... I'm, ah... Am sorry I ran off... Ya gave me one hell o' a shock, so ya did, lass, an' – an' I needed sometime ta think things through."

Not wanting to let him see how much his appearance had effected her or how much her hands were shaking, she kept her back to him as she leant down to rummaged through the cupboards, hunting for the only vase she had brought with her when she had moved into the small flat.

"An' whot have ya decided?" She found the tall glass vase she'd been searching for and placed it in the sink to fill it half way with water.

"Am not gonna tell anybody about whot you an' Sean are up ta. Jus' like I promised, I'll keep me mouth shut... But I cannae say I approve. Whot ya doin' is dangerous. Yer gonna get yarself killed."

"Ya underestimate me, Michael." She turned to face him, irritation flashing in her eyes. _Why did every man in her life think she needed protecting?_

"I know exactly whot am doin' and tha risks am takin'. Yer forgetting who I am, McBride, an' whot I've been doin' since I wa' a teenager."

"Okay, I get it." He held up a hand in a gesture of surrender. "I don't like it, but I get it." He paused and then moved closer until he was standing directly in front of her.

She was very aware of his masculinity as he looked down at her from his greater height. "I don't want ta lose ya." His fingers tentatively rearranged a few strands of her hair placing them behind her ear. "An' I like being wit' ya."

"I like ya, too," she admitted, reaching up to comb her fingers through his tousled dark hair. Then, standing on her tiptoes she pressed a soft kiss against his lips.

One tender kiss turned into two as he drew her closer, his free arm snaking about her waist. Feeling his tongue run along the inside of her lip, she opened her mouth in a sigh and he took it as an invitation to deepen the kiss.

It wasn't long before Michael's heavy winter jacket was discarded on the kitchen floor and his shirt untucked from the top of his jeans and then her own sweater was being pushed upwards by large masculine hands, which palmed her breasts over the top of her bra.

As her body responded to his touch, it all became too much. The powerful hormone driven emotions raging through her body suddenly terrified the Irishwoman. All the pent up stress of the last few days mixed with the realization that she could lose herself so utterly to a man she barely knew, who now possessed the knowledge to destroy her entire family, shook her to the very core.

She struggled free, pushing against his chest and arms until he backed away. Breathless and trembling, her instincts took over and her tightly packed bony fist flew, catching him on the jaw, rocking his head sharply to the side. He jolted back his eyes wide with confusion.

"Fi, whot tha hell?"

"Thot's fer running off," she told him and then she hit him again, an open handed slap to his right cheek this time. "An' thot's fer underestimating me."

He held a hand up first to the left side of his jaw where her bony knuckles had connected and then gently rubbed over the bright red hand print on his right cheek with the back of his hand. "Underestimating ya-?"

"Thot ya ran an' left me ta finish tha job, I dinnae care, but ya ran off wit' outta explanation as ta... I didnae know if ya wa' gonna- I thought ya -"

Unable to get the words out, she lashed out with a slipper covered foot, catching his shin hard enough to make him take a step back and then she slipped past him heading for the door.

She could feel him right behind her, and when his hand landed on her shoulder, she was ready for him. Grabbing his wrist, she pushed her hip into his side and leaned forward, tossing him over her shoulder and onto the living room floor.

Dropping down on top of him, she went to throw another punch, but he caught hold of first one wrist and then the other. "Ya dropped a feckin' bomb on me head, Fi..." He gasped as he tightened his grip on her arms. "Whot tha feck did ya expect me ta do? Yer cannae jus' throw stuff like thot out an' expect a man ta jus' take it... Ya coulda got us both killed!"

They stared at each other in silence, both breathing heavily. Slowly, the anger faded from their eyes and, hesitantly Michael released his grip on her wrists.

"Am sorry... I wanted ta tell ya befer. But I didnae know how." She gazed down at him through moisture filled blue-green orbs, the uncontrollable rage which had filled her mind now quelled.

He shifted slightly underneath her, his palms now stroking along her jean clad thighs. "I dinnae know whot ta think when ya-"

She cut him off with a finger across his lips. She hadn't once considered things from his prospective. He must have been wondering who was going to kill him first. The RIRA for being party to destroying their weapons or the Glenanne brothers for leaving one of their own with no back up.

"I fergive ya," she smirked cheekily, as he raised his eyebrows in protest. Then tapping her finger on the tip of his nose, she continued. "But whot I cannae fergive is ya getting' yar knickers inna twist about me doin' this job. Cuz thot means ya don't believe Am capable. I'll have ya know Michael McBride thot I've-"

It was her turn to have her words cut off as, with a sudden move, the dark haired man twisted out from beneath her and now he was the one on top, pinning her to the cheap nylon carpet. His grin only widening as she squirmed underneath him.

"Am sorry... I trust ya, I do. But I cannae help but worry when ya put yerself in danger. You'll jus' have ta live wit' it."

She scowled up at the infuriating man who gazed back at her so placidly. She had no idea why, but it was impossible to stay mad at him. "Fine." she pouted. "I give ya permission ta worry. Jus' don't get in me way an' don' expect me ta worry abou' ya, cuz I already told ya I dinnae worry, _ever_."

"Fine." He mimicked her tone exactly and smiled again as her words contradicted her angst-filled outburst of violence a moment before. Her lover placed a soft peck to the tip of her nose and then another to her brow and then to her lips, deepening the last one, his mouth pressing firmly over hers as his hips ground down against her stomach letting her feel his growing passion.

It was as if a dam burst, sending all her jumbled up emotions streaming out. Her fears, anger, love and longing all mixed together along with frustration, agitation and finally the relief of his return.

He clung onto her as she writhed beneath him, kisses interspersed with bites and nips while her hands beat upon his back before turning to claws which pulled and tore at his clothing in an effort to get to the skin beneath.

It wasn't long before he lost his hold on her and they rolled across the floor, a small wooden table was knocked over and then kicked across the room. The couch which got in the way as they tussled was violently kicked and shoved out of the way for their lust fuelled battle.

She _needed_ this. She needed to vent and, from Michael's reactions, he needed a release too. They were both angry and shaken up by all that had happened and the effect it had had on their growing relationship. They ended up naked, still on the floor, breathless and flushed she sat astride him, her long auburn hair framing her features like a wild mane.

"I win," she declared victoriously.

He ran the tip of his tongue over his sweat beaded lip, all the time his eyes were skimming over every detail of her lithe body. "I t'ink it wa' more like a draw," he replied staring appreciatively at her small perfectly formed breasts. "But am willing ta concede."

"Concede, is it?" She slapped him lightly on the chest and immediately leaned forward to kiss him better, licking a line along his torso up to his chin.

"Aye, in tha hope thot we can carry on this discussion somewhere more comfortable."

Sitting up, she took her first proper look at the devastation they had wrought to her flat and that was when she first felt the carpet burns to her knees, elbows, back and buttocks.

"Are ya feelin' yer years, Michael?" she asked, though secretly she agreed with him. A comfortable mattress and soft sheets certainly held an appeal.

He answered her by sharply sitting up and then, with her light as a feather body cradled in his arms, he got all the way to his feet. "They say yer as young as tha woman ya hold." He kissed her and kept kissing her as he crossed the room, following to where she pointed to her bedroom door.

She landed on the mattress and then, before she could any more than draw a breath, his lips and hands were upon her, taking her to heights she'd never reached before. Clawing and dragging her nails across the sheets, she writhed as he took her to heaven with nothing more than his oh so talented tongue, his large hands merely holding her in place. Then, before she had had the chance to truly come all the way down, he mounted her, pushing into her in one long delicious slide that led to another and another, taking her to a second and then third peak before he joined her.

Afterwards, they lay cocooned under the covers, wrapped in each others' arms while their breathing slowly returned to normal. Sore but thoroughly sated, Fiona snuggled as close as she could to her man and let her eyes slide shut. _Finally,_ after all the trauma from her ridiculously bad handling of their return to Belfast, she felt she could relax.

"Fiona, are ya awake?"

"Umm" she hummed happily.

"Fi, why is me blue plaid shirt under yar pillow?"

Fiona's blue-green eyes flew open and she sat up, her now totally relaxed mind unprepared to come up with a good lie. "I wanted ta see ya," she answered him truthfully. "Ya weren't at home and, as I'd come such a long way, I let me self in."

"You broke inta me flat?"

"I dinnae know if ya'd skipped town or tha country, so I came ta see. Ya weren't thar... An' I locked up when I left. I don't see whot tha problem is."

"Ya don't see -" He shook his head and sighed. "Why take me shirt?"

This was more tricky. "It wa' lying on tha floor, in need o' a wash."

"And so you put it under yar pillow –?"

"Cuz I didnae have a clean nighty an' it wa' cold in me bed _all alone_." Her hand slid under the sheet, settling between his legs, stroking along his semi hard manhood.

She watched as his Adam's apple rose and fell. "Well, I wouldnae want ya ta be cold," he answered, as he pushed back the sheet and gently drew her down on top of him.

"Maybe ya could stay? Ya know, help keep me warm on these cold spring nights." He was hard now and his hips rocking against the rhythm of her hand.

"It's certainly gentlemanly t'ing ta do, luv." His eyes rolled back as she ducked down her mouth, her tongue taking over from from what her hand had been doing seconds ago. "An' am... all about...ah, being...a... gentleman."

And she revelled in the gasps and moans that issued from his lips as she put her own talented tongue and teeth to work, returning the pleasure he had given her before with his own mouth.

They stayed in her bed for the rest of the day until dinner, when his stomach rumbled low and they paused long enough to bring their food and drink back to her bedroom, and on through the night, brief conversations quickly giving way to satisfied sighs as Mr. McBride kept his gentlemanly promise to keep her warm, until at last they both sank into a deep sleep, comfortably entangled in one another's arms and legs, the cold and the danger of the outside world temporarily forgotten.

And when daylight came to wake them late on the Sunday morning, it took all of Fiona's limited self discipline to leave her new lover while she headed off to Sunday dinner with her family.


End file.
